Cold Day in July
by polysgirl
Summary: For as long as Sarah Linden could remember, people always left her. Nobody stayed. Eventually, she just accepted that that's how life was, for her. This is the story of three men who lived up to that expectation, and the one who didn't.
1. Greg

_"It's all going to be ok."_

 _The first time Sarah whispered those words to Jack, he was just over three years old and perched on her hip as they stood on the doorstep, watching Greg drive away. It was a warm, sunny Saturday in January - as much of an anomaly as the cold day in July that Greg said it would be if he ever left her._

"Never, Sarah. I'll never leave you. If I do, it'll be a cold day in July," Greg had grinned at her and said, when, six months pregnant and brimming with hormone-driven emotion, she'd voiced her fear that nothing good ever lasted in her world.

"Promise?" she had asked, her voice small and tiny in her ears as he'd moved around her to grab a glass from the cupboard.

"You bet," he vowed. "Cold day in July. Cold like the arctic." His arms came around her from behind, his hand resting on her swollen belly. "We're having a baby, Sarah. We're a family now. It's all going to be ok."

She was eighteen, pregnant. She believed him. Wanted to believe him. Had to, really. All she'd ever wanted was a home, and someone to love her. Just because they did, not because they had to. "That's me, Babe," Greg had said just a few short months before, as he slid a ring on her finger mere weeks after she found out she was pregnant. "All yours."

And he was, for a while. Until he wasn't. She wasn't really sure when it happened. Things were good, right after Jack was born. Greg was attentive, doting on both of them. She was learning how to be a mom, something that she thought was just supposed to be natural for a woman, but was frustratingly difficult to her. She tried, though. She tried harder than she'd ever tried anything before. She wanted Jack to have a better childhood than she'd had. He would feel safe, she vowed, with two parents who loved him. He'd have everything she didn't.

As time went on, things didn't go back to the way they were pre-Jack. She didn't mind, so much. Sure, the sex wasn't as frequent, or as uninhibited as it had been before. But they still got around to it. When she wasn't exhausted from taking care of Jack. Still, she made sure not to turn Greg down - at least, not often. Even if she wasn't feeling up to it, she'd usually agree - because she wanted to make Greg happy.

Greg really hadn't been happy when, two days after her 21st birthday, she had secured a recruit position at Seattle PD and joined the Training Academy. Three and a half grueling months later he went through the motions of expressing pride and pleasure when she graduated, but she knew he was actually less than impressed. He wanted her to stay home. Raise Jack. Let him take care of them. But she needed a purpose, for her identity to be more than just as someone else's wife and mother. And she wanted more for Jack, she wanted to make sure that they would be ok. Two incomes would make it easier for them to build a life, she reasoned. Plus, she wanted to make sure she didn't totally depend on anyone. Just in case.

Turned out that was a good thing, since now she found herself standing on the stoop in her bare feet, holding Jack tightly to her, watching the taillights on Greg's little car turn the corner...watching until they were gone.

The fights had started once she was working. She had been working fairly steady hours, nothing insane. It was good - money wasn't as tight, and she tried to balance work and being a mother and being a wife. She'd tried really hard, and even though she failed sometimes, she kept trying her best. She thought that counted for something. That if she apologized - and she always did - Greg would try as hard as she did, would know that she meant well even when things got messed up.

That day, as the tail lights rounded the corner and disappeared, she vowed never to apologize for herself again. To anyone.

"We'll be ok, Jack." She breathed, trying to keep her voice steady. "We have each other. We'll always have each other, you hear?"

"Car! mama! I go in the car with daddy?" Jack questioned, patting her face.

She didn't know how to explain it all to him, or tell him that he couldn't go. "I love you, Jack."

Finally, she went back inside, put Jack down in front of the television, and picked up the broken shards from the glass she'd dropped when she'd seen Greg come downstairs with his suitcase. It was like she was picking up the pieces of her life, piecing together a new life, just her and Jack. Her and Jack, against the world. By the time she went to bed that night, the only evidence that Greg Linden had destroyed her first real home were a few splotches of blood on the kitchen floor where she'd cut her foot on a broken shard.

* * *

She didn't tell anybody. Not right away. Regi came by a couple of weeks later - to check on her, or so she had claimed.

"Haven't heard from you in a couple of weeks," she'd said when Sarah opened the door.

"Been busy," she shrugged, gesturing her in. "Working lots. Don't mind the mess. I'm having a hard time keeping up." She couldn't stop herself from cringing as Regi surveyed the clutter in her living room - Jack's toys, half folded laundry, yesterday's take-out containers still on the counter. Don't apologize. Don't justify it, she reminded herself. "I'm just beat by the time I get home, and get Jack to bed, lately," she admitted a second later, despite her resolve.

"Where's Greg?"

"He's out." It surprised her, how easy the lie flowed off of her tongue. "He's been really busy. We've both been really busy."

Jack came barreling into the room chanting "Regi!" repeatedly at the top of his lungs. Regi grabbed him around the waist, swung him up into her arms, tickling him and laughing with him and parodying his name back at him in a rough voice. She had an easy way with the little boy, an easier way than Sarah had, that's for sure. A small tendril of jealousy wound around her heart, and she had to bite her tongue to stop herself from snapping at Regi to be careful, swinging him like that.

She bit her tongue for real when Regi turned to her, eyes kind. "You look beat, Sarah. Why don't you go have a bit of a rest. Jack and I have this covered."

As much as she didn't want to need help, couldn't bear to admit weakness to anyone, she was bone tired and emotionally raw, so she just offered Regi a half smile and turned to head upstairs. A shower, she thought. One without Jack hounding her. She'd barely made into the tub before the tears she'd been holding back for days burst free, and she sobbed under the shower spray until she had nothing left. When she couldn't cry anymore she shut the shower off, wrapped herself in a towel and fell on the bed, spent.

A couple hours of sleep and she didn't feel good, per se, but she did feel better. And surprised, when she wandered downstairs to discover a much cleaner house and a large pile of neatly folded laundry.

"What's this?" she asked, pushing the negative shock out of her voice and offering them an uncomfortable smile.

"Surprise!" Jack jumped up, leaping at her. "We cleaned!"

"I see that!" She picked Jack up, kissed his cheek, cuddled him close. "You guys didn't have to do that!" But she made sure she smiled at Regi, and she hoped it didn't look as forced as it felt.

"We had a good time." Regi said simply, before getting to her feet. "I've gotta run, Sar - I have an appointment at 5. We'll meet up one day this week, ok? I'll bring lunch."

Regi was at the door, before she turned back and caught Sarah's eye. "Don't worry about this," she said, gesturing into the house. "Everyone needs a bit of help, sometimes. You've done really well, Sarah. I'm proud of you."

As she watched her old social worker drive away, she wondered if Regi would still say that once she found out that she'd managed to lose Greg.

* * *

It was another three weeks before Regi found out. It was an overcast, miserable Saturday in February. Valentine's day. Jack's sitter was sick. Jack wasn't feeling well, either, and Sarah had a shift. In desperation, at the last minute, she'd called Regi.

"Where's Greg?" Regi asked as she walked in the door. "He can't take a day away from the office to watch his son?"

"He's gone," Sarah snapped, at her wits end between Jack's general crankiness that day, the abject feeling of failure that came up as she watched Regi survey her once again messy house, and the fact that she was seconds away from being late for shift.

"Yes, I see that. But why isn't he here? He should be taking care of his family."

"Obviously, we're not his family anymore," she shot back, her voice harsh even to her own ears. She turned away quickly, but not before she saw Regi's startled expression. "I gotta go, Regi. I'm late for my shift," she tossed over her shoulder and bolted for the door.

When she got home that night, Jack was asleep and Regi was sitting in the dimly lit living room. Her house was, once again, cleaner than when she'd left it. It increased her sense of failure, but it was also, on some level, a relief.

"When?" Regi asked as Sarah dropped her bag to the floor, pulled off her gun, and locked it in the cupboard by the sink.

"Five weeks ago." Her legs were shaky and she put her hands on the counter, leaned on it to steady herself. She dreaded this conversation as much as she dreaded having to talk to Greg again.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I... I don't even know what I did wrong," she mumbled.

"Oh, Sarah." Regi was in front of her now, and she flinched as her social worker touched her shoulder.

"Nobody stays," she admitted, looking down at her hands, unable to bring herself to look at Regi, in case she cried. "It must be me, because nobody stays."

"I'm here," Regi reminded her.

"You have to be," Sarah rolled her eyes, shrugged.

"Sarah," Regi admonished, then waited until Sarah finally found the courage to look up, to meet her eyes, before continuing. "You're 22 years old. I'm not your social worker anymore."

"Well, I'm sorr-" she was cut off by Regi's finger, firm against her lips.

" I'm here for you. By choice. Because I care about you."

Sarah looked at her for a long minute, fighting the tears that were filling her eyes. She didn't know what to say, had no ability to find words, so she just looked at Regi, unable to hide the hurt. Regi pulled her into a brief, one-armed hug.

"I made a stew. Leftovers in the fridge. I'll heat some for you while you shower. It's going to be ok, Sarah. You're going to be ok." It hadn't been the first time Regi had uttered those words to her, and it wouldn't be the last. They were never entirely true, but she knew Regi meant them, and that did make a difference. For the first time in five weeks, Sarah didn't feel totally adrift. Maybe, she thought, she could believe her this time.


	2. Jimmy

" _I'm here for you. I'll help you," Jimmy had promised, grasping both her hands in his and leaning towards her in the Psychiatric visitors room. "We'll get you through this, Sarah, and it'll all be ok. It's all going to be ok." When Jimmy told her this, she believed him. She always believed him, because he was the best man she'd ever met. He'd never let her down, and he never would._

She had worked two years at the jail and four on patrol, where money was tight and time was nonexistent. She was grateful that Jack seemed happy with what time she could give him. If she was off they went to the park, to events, stayed home and watched cartoons all day, or headed out with Regi on the boat. She did her best to make sure he was well adjusted and that he didn't miss out on anything he should have, despite the fact that Greg hadn't sent her so much as a dime in child support. It didn't matter, she convinced herself. It just meant that Jack was hers and hers alone, and she didn't have to share him with the father who obviously didn't want them. She would just make sure that he knew she **DID** want him, so that he never ever grew up feeling like he wasn't good enough to be loved. He would never grow up feeling like she did. He would grow up with a home.

When Jack was eight, she landed a position in homicide. Regi had taken her and Jack out on the boat to celebrate, and she couldn't wipe the ear-splitting smile off of her face. Steadier hours - kind of, some flexibility for Jack, better pay. Mostly she was just so excited to finally be taking on a position where she could help bring some justice to part of the world; where she could do something concrete, something that brought value and made her existence worthwhile.

"I'm happy for you, Sar," Regi had smiled at her, hugged her, and shared her joy. She would wonder, later, how Regi would have reacted if she had known how it would all play out. "I'll miss all my sleepovers with my favorite person, though," she admitted, ruffling Jack's hair.

"There'll still be nights I have to work. Jack loves sleepovers here, I won't take that away from him," she promised, even though part of her sometimes felt threatened by the closeness Jack and Regi shared. Not that she wasn't close to Jack too - it just always felt like work, for her. Like she was never quite sure how to connect with him, how to be what he needed. Anyways, she'd never take his sleepovers on the boat away. And it would be good for her to have some time to herself, maybe start dating again. She thought maybe it was time.

Time for more than the occasional hit-and-run to scratch an itch. Time for more than just her and Jack and shift work. Time for Jack to have a father figure. Time for her to move forward. Because it finally felt right, as if she wasn't looking behind her anymore, and things were more stable. And because everything really was ok.

She walked down the halls in Homicide on her first day feeling like a fish out of water, and like she 100% belonged on this floor, all at the same time. It was a confusing jumble of emotions ranging from excited to overwhelmed to insignificant to ready to take on the world.

"Sarah Linden, for Lt. Oakes," she introduced herself at the front desk, signed in, stood against the wall, her finger tapping a nervous rhythm against her thigh. While she waited, she watched as people came in and left. A tall, dark haired man with broad shoulders and a strong, chiseled jaw slowed as he walked past, gave her a long look. Hmmmm, she thought. Hmmmm.

"Hey Sarge," she heard someone greet the dark-haired man. A few minutes later Oakes rounded the corner and two minutes after that she was sitting across from him with a stack of papers in front of her and a pen in her hand. While she signed forms, he gave her the lay of the land, and then he took her around and introduced her to more names and faces than she could possibly absorb in one go. But she gave it a good honest try, because she knew that absorbing, remembering, and dissecting information was a big part of what made a good homicide detective, and Sarah Linden was going to be good at her job if it was the last thing she did.

"And this is our newest Sergeant, James Skinner," Oakes introduced, ushering her into an office partway down the hall. The man in the room looked up, made eye contact, and she couldn't breathe. "This is Sarah Linden, our newest recruit. He'll be your partner for the time being." Oakes continued, as Skinner stepped forward and clasped her in a firm handshake. Her stomach leapt into a massive ball of squirming worms, and she wasn't sure if it was his hand engulfing hers, or the sudden fear that her new partner, this sergeant, would feel that training a rookie homicide detective was beneath him. She hadn't realized she'd be paired with a sergeant.

"Here you go," Oakes was saying, handing a message over to Skinner. "Case came in. Show her the ropes, Sarge."

Sarge...Skinner...made a noise she couldn't quite pinpoint - either assent or disgust - and then Oakes was gone, leaving her alone with this enigmatic stranger, her new partner. She'd never been good at small talk, but she tried now - tried hard. "Your daughter?" she asked, nodding her head towards a picture on his desk.

"Yes. Bethany is nine." His voice was soft, silky, floating over her like a blanket. His eyes were kind, assessing. So she volunteered something of herself, too.

"My son, Jack, is eight."

"It's a nice age," he commented, and then after she had agreed with a quiet "yup," he continued, "so, detective. You ready to learn how to work a scene?"

She settled into the passenger seat of his car, still thrumming with nerves. Her finger tapped against the door handle, her eyes darted around the car, taking in the ballet slippers on the console, the gym bag in the back seat, the way his hands sat firmly on the steering wheel, the wedding band snug on his left ring finger.

"What should I call you?" She asked abruptly, when she couldn't handle the suffocating silence any longer. "Sergeant? Sergeant Skinner? Skinner? I know it's not officer..." she mused the last to herself, more so than to him.

He chuckled, reached out, turned the police scanner down a notch. "Whatever you want. Skinner is fine. Or Jim. You can call me Jim, if you want." She leaned back against the seat, trying them all out in her head, trying to decide which felt most comfortable. "What should I call you?" He parodied her question, after a few minutes silence.

"Anything but rookie." she breathed before she could stop the words, remembering her first days as a patrol officer. She cringed as she realized she'd uttered the words out loud, then looked over in surprise when the man beside her let out a warm bark of laughter.

"You'll do, girl. You'll do just fine," he laughed. "We'll be spending a lot of time together until Reddick is back in action. First names. How about it, Sarah?"

She thought about it for a minute, then nodded. "Yeah. Ok. Jim," she tried his on for size. It felt foreign on her tongue, but not unwelcome. "I hadn't expected to be partnered with a sergeant," she admitted then, feeling it out as she turned to watch him.

"I just got promoted. And my partner switched divisions. And our other potential partner for you is off on medical leave. They offered to switch people around, but that seemed like a lot of effort. I told them I didn't mind taking on the new girl." She wasn't sure how to take that, and bit back her annoyance at being condescended to, glaring at his profile. He glanced over at her as he drove and his lips curved up slightly. "Might have been a lucky choice." Then they were rolling up to the scene, and Skinner...Jim... looked over at her.

"You ready for this?" he asked.

"Definitely." This was what she was here for, she thought. Let's do this.

"Clock starts now." His eyes crinkled with a smile, and he gestured her forward.

It turned out that he was a good first partner, the perfect first partner, really. He was kind, respectful. He didn't just work the case and expect her to tag along, observing and doing the scut work for him. He engaged with her, included her. He'd ask her what she saw, then point out what she missed. He'd leave her to piece something together on her own, then review it with her. He would call her over to see what he found - showing her, explaining in detail what it was, and what possible meanings it could have, letting her suggest additional meanings and helping her assess their validity. He asked her for her opinions, thoughts, and observations. And he seemed genuinely interested in what they were, analyzing them and mulling them over along with his own. Even when she was totally and obviously off base, he would just suggest alternatives, or explain why her theories wouldn't carry weight. He never, ever told her she was wrong, never belittled her or criticized. He was the perfect tutor, she thought.

When they solved that first case, she was probably far too proud of herself, but Jim just grinned at her from across their desks. "Don't expect them all to be that easy." Easy or not, she thought, it was the case that earned her her shield.

* * *

The day she got her detective shield was the first time he kissed her. He'd slid the shiny new badge into her hand, closed her fingers over it, said "Congratulations," and kissed her. Just like that.

His lips were soft, gentle, with a hint of yearning. He felt amazing. She couldn't help but lean into him, opening to him. It wasn't until his tongue touched hers that she startled, pulled back. "We can't, Jim. You're married." She'd shaken her head, panicked, as if they could get caught any moment.

"It's really just a marriage in name," he'd told her, tucking a few loose flyaway strands of hair behind her ear. But she'd shaken her head again, ducking away, leaving as quickly as possible.

She knew their marriage was shaky, he'd commented once that it was really just a piece of paper, now. That he'd leave if it wasn't for Bethany. And she'd noticed that his conversations with Jen when she called always seemed stilted from his end, but she generally turned away and tried to give him as much privacy as their little patrol car allowed. He always seemed...sadder, somehow, when he hung up. He'd talk about Beth, his love for her obvious, and he'd talk about Jen...never cruelly, never criticizing, just always seeming lost as to what to do to fix it. She didn't offer any advice. She was far from qualified on that front. So she just sat in his passenger seat, listened when he needed to vent, and wondered how someone could ever be unhappy with a man who was so kind, so understanding, and who never said anything offside about even the wife who demeaned him, belittling his job and criticizing him for not living up to her impossible expectations.

She never wondered if he was portraying his marriage accurately or not, but she didn't let him kiss her again, although he looked like he thought about trying a couple of times.

A few months and a few more solves into her homicide career, she was getting into the swing of it all. In Jim, she had found a strong working relationship and a solid friendship. But then they'd had a case. It was the kind that hits a person right at the core of their humanity. A young girl - kidnapped, beaten, raped, strangled, dismembered. Working the murder was routine, but the suspect trail was limited and after months of unending investigation, they never had enough for a conviction. The day they boxed up the case to take it to cold case storage was the first time they crossed the line. She'd been in the car, fighting tears, leaving Jim to deal with the final paperwork. When he finally came to find her, he'd gotten into the driver's seat and started driving in silence. She was too distraught to pay attention to where they were going, barely noticing they were somewhere secluded when he finally stopped the car, twisted around and looked at her. "You need to separate yourself, Sarah. Or these cases, the things we see, they can destroy you." She was crying silently in the passenger seat, tears tracking down her face.

Suddenly, he was leaning over, her chin in his hand, his face was right in front of hers. When he spoke, there was an intense urgency in his tone that pulled her back. "You can't let it get to you. It happens. It's part of the job. We can't solve them all." Desperate, hurting, and so thankful for this man who understood her so well without her ever having to say much of anything, she leaned forward that tiniest little bit until their lips met. She just needed to kiss him. To lose herself, for just a minute. He didn't push her away - instead he deepened the kiss, his fingers threading through her hair. It got wild and heated fast, and then they were fumbling their way into the back seat, out of their clothes, and into each other.

Afterwards, his arm was a steel band around her, anchoring her against him as he leaned against the door. His other hand rubbed a warm path down her back, and she rested her cheek against his while they waited for their breathing to return to normal. "I love you," she whispered. It was the first time she'd said it to anybody first. It would, she thought, be the last.

That afternoon marked the beginning of the next two and a half years. Jim was so good to her. He would bring her coffee, dinner, or take her out for supper somewhere off the beaten path where they weren't likely to run into anyone they knew. They hooked up in hotels, the car, at her place when Jack was in school or with Regi. He never stayed over, but she knew they had to keep it low key, and it was ok. He would leave Jen, he said, just as soon as the time was right for Bethany. She understood that, wanting to protect your child. And she had no reason to doubt him - Jimmy was so open and honest about how he felt, about her. He treated her with more warmth and kindness than anyone, she thought, and he was never aloof.

It was just a matter of time, she was sure, and then they would be together. She was happy, truly 100% happy for the first time in her life, and she loved the feeling. She felt light, safe, as if the weight of the world was lifted off of her shoulders. She laughed, she teased, she sang. Regi had even commented on how happy she seemed, one night when they were having supper on the boat. And she was, she realized. Happy. Finally, finally she belonged somewhere. And it felt amazing.

* * *

Everything changed the night she found herself standing over Tricia Seward's body. She'd stayed with Adrian until Child Protective Services had arrived, even after Jimmy had gotten on scene, late and dishevelled. She wondered about that as he stood in the doorway to the kitchen. Where had he been and why did he look like he'd just... she looked over at the trees Adrian was drawing, for the third time, and then back up to the doorway, but Jimmy was gone. She was unsettled by his overall appearance, and by the look on his face as he watched her and Adrian. Cool, assessing. Not like the Jimmy who usually looked at her with warmth, even when they were on a case.

It was a quick solve. Jimmy had Ray Seward put away for it within days. But Sarah felt wrong about the solve. It just didn't make sense. All those instincts Jimmy had helped her develop were screaming that none of it made sense. Why was Tricia's finger broken? Where as her wedding ring? Why did Ray leave through a window when he lived there? He would have drawn less attention going through the door. It was too sloppy. It didn't sit well. And what was it with Adrian drawing those trees? She'd voiced as much to Jimmy, multiple times, and just got told to leave it, they had the guy, it was clear cut. Full stop.

But it wasn't, she knew. She spent days and nights after shift, going over case facts with a fine toothed comb. She kept trying to convince Jimmy to listen, to help her. But for the first time, he wouldn't listen to her, wouldn't consider what she was trying to tell him. "You're WRONG, Sarah." He'd told her harshly, standing in the parking lot to her condo building, the cold Seattle rain pouring down on them two weeks before Seward's trial was set to begin.

"I'm not wrong, Jimmy. We need to look into this more. It's too inconsistent. It won't hold up in court."

"It **will** hold up in court."

"We're taking that little boy's father away from him, condemning him to the system."

"The system works, Sarah. It'll take care of him. His father killed his mother, he doesn't need that. He's better off in the system."

But she didn't think Ray Seward had done it. And Adrian would lose his father. Adrian would be stuck in the system, another unwanted child. He'd never be better off. And it would be her fault, because she helped convict his father for a crime she really felt he didn't commit.

"You don't understand," she muttered.

"No, you don't understand. Why're you so goddamned hard headed? I can't deal with this right now," Jimmy's voice was cold, angry. It reminded her, on some level, of Greg's as he was leaving. That's what this was, she realized. Jimmy was leaving. Leaving her out to dry, when she needed him to listen to her, to help her. "You have to drop it, Sarah. Let it go. It was good police work. We got the right guy. Seward did it. This is done. You need to move on."

She stood in the rain for a long while after Jimmy had driven away, and then she turned and went back inside, walking numbly past Jack as he asked her something about popcorn, into her bedroom, and shut the door silently behind her. She turned the case over and over in her mind, trying to find some way to prove her theory, to force them to reopen it. Because she couldn't bear it if she failed Adrian. And after days of working around the clock and trying to find the proof that Seward wasn't their guy, fighting to make her concerns heard and failing at every turn, her exhaustion was bone deep. She didn't even shower, just curled up on the bed in her wet clothes and thought. And thought. And thought. Until she slept. Jimmy called the next day, but she didn't answer. He banged on the door, but Jack told him she was sleeping. And after days of sleeping and agonizing and being unable to bring herself to get out of bed, not for food, not even for Jack, she suddenly found herself being bundled up by Regi and driven to Seattle Psych.

"Jack," she breathed, suddenly, turning to Regi in a panic as an orderly tried to lead her away.

"He'll stay with me," Regi promised.

They put her in a sparsely furnished room with a solid door and bars on the windows. But she didn't really mind. The window looked out into the yard, and she was mostly alone. She didn't have to worry about Jack, because Regi had that handled. She could spend all of her time mentally working through the Seward puzzle, trying to find that one missing piece that kept eluding her. She was sure that once she found it, everything would make sense and Adrian Seward would get his father back.

* * *

"It's all going to be ok." She told Jack tearfully, wrapping him in a tight hug the day she was released. She would see Jimmy tonight, and he would pack his bags, leave Jen like he promised just days ago when he visited her at the hospital. They would be a family, a real one, he promised. Him and her and Jack and Bethany. They'd only have Beth part time, but that was ok with him, he said. Both of their broken little families would be patchworked together into a home.

He didn't come that night, though, and she went to bed feeling empty, bereft. She had been so sure. He'd promised to come that night. He may have caught a case, she reminded herself. It happens.

It was another three days before she saw him. They met at a small park near her condo, sat on a bench overlooking a pond. Geese honked and milled around the water's edge, looking for handouts.

"I can't do it, Sarah. I'm sorry."

"You said it was over. You said we would-" She cut herself off, hating the pitiful and broken sound of her own whispered words.

"I know. And I meant it, Sarah. I did. And if it was just Jen, I'd be gone. But it's Bethany. It'll devastate her. I'm sorry. You understand. You have Jack, after all." But she didn't understand, not at all. And she just sat there in silence, staring at the geese, even after Jimmy bent to press a kiss to her forehead before walking away. Walking away. Just one more broken promise.

Seward had been sentenced to death during her stay in the psych unit, and that solve was the catalyst to push Jimmy into Lieutenant, allowing him to move into another position as an administrator of special investigations. Sarah was cleared to go back to work and Oakes, bless him, supported her and helped her start off easy again. She wasn't officially partnered, she just worked with whoever, or on her own. She found that she preferred it that way. And she vowed to stay on a last name basis with all future partners.


	3. Rick

_"I just don't know how to make everything be ok," she admitted quietly to Rick, one night out of the blue while they were watching a movie. "To make everything stay ok." She leaned against his shoulder, breathed him in._

 _"I might have just the solution for that," he said after a minute, pulling away from her, shifting on the couch. She turned towards him, one leg tucked underneath herself, and found him sitting sideways facing her. He took her hands in his, resting them on her knee, his thumb rubbing a slow circle against her leg. She looked at him, open, waiting - one eyebrow raised in question "Come to Sonoma. Find a new job." he paused. "Marry me." It was the very last thing she had considered, that she had ever expected he'd suggest. But at her expression, which she was sure conveyed all the stunned horror she was feeling, he just smiled. "I know all of the bad stuff, Sarah, and I want you anyways. I can help you move past it. Help you be happy. You deserve to be happy. Marry me. And everything will be ok, til death do us part."_

 _"Yeah. Yeah, ok." She had finally agreed, pushing back the slivers of cold apprehension snaking around her heart as she met his gaze. She reminded herself that if he said it would be ok, it would be. He was her psychiatrist, and she could trust him._

Her second day in the psych unit, she had been ushered gingerly into an empty office. There was a desk, organized and clear of clutter with only an empty paper tray, computer, and lamp on it. A name card with "Dr. R. Felder" etched in big block letters. A tall, leather backed executive chair turned in profile to the desk. Two wall units behind it with multiple books, catalogued alphabetically. One window, blinds drawn but turned so that a ghosting of light filtered through, sending rays over the carpet. A leather couch, which the orderlies suggested she take a seat on. She stayed standing in the middle of the room, arms at her sides, as the door closed softly behind her. She looked around a second time, assessing the room as if it was a crime scene. It wasn't a hostile room, she thought, but it was sterile.

Lost in her observations, she startled at the sound of the door closing behind her. She took a steadying breath, and briefly considered whether she cared enough to turn around and see who it is. Nope, she decided, she really didn't. The world outside the window, was it still turning? Passing things by? Was the dirt over Tricia's ashes swirling in the wind, or being beaten by the rain? She couldn't tell. Would Ray Seward see the sun on his face ever again? If she was right, and he wasn't the do-er, would she be able to live with it for the rest of her life? She wished the blinds were more open, so she could see outside. Or maybe she wished they were fully closed so she didn't have to see the world go on, as if she hadn't just possibly helped incarcerate an innocent man.

She was interrupted from her thoughts by the realization that the half-shuttered window she had been staring at had been replaced by a sweater-covered chest. She couldn't give two fucks who it belonged to, unless it was Tricia's killer.

"Sarah? I'm Dr. Felder." The voice, unfamiliar, sounded buffered, like it was far away and coming through layers of foam. "Please, have a seat on the couch." She wasn't interested in platitudes or polite gestures, or in talking about how she was feeling. So she just stood there, her silence a blatant refusal to acknowledge him. After a few minutes, he sighed and made his way to his chair. She watched out of the corner of her eye as he leaned the chair back, crossed his hands, and watched her. He just watched her, waiting for her to talk, or sit, or who knows what.

She stayed where she was, silent. Eventually, he got the hint, suggesting they try again tomorrow, and making a call. The orderlies came back, escorted her back to her room, and then she was left alone with her own thoughts.

* * *

"Sarah." Rick's voice was soft as he knelt in front of her and got close, too close. He took her hands in his. "It's been two and a half weeks. I can't help you if you don't talk to me. I want to help you."

She jerked away at the contact. "Don't touch me," she snarled. Her silence was broken.

Rick withdrew his hands and rocked back on his heels. "Can you tell me about the case you were working before you came here?"

"The case is solved. We got the guy. But things don't add up. My partner disagrees. He's more senior, he calls the shot. It's done. Nobody else believes me. Nothing to talk about." She turned her head, looked out the window. It was open, today, rays of sun filtering in.

"Does it bother you? Nobody believing you?" Rick asked, redirecting her attention back on him. It was curious, she thought. Because he didn't sound condescending, or clinical. There was a warmth in his tone. Kindness, maybe.

"Does it matter? You don't know me." She turned back to the window.

"I'd like to know you, Sarah. I'd like to help you." His words were gentle, but this time she didn't turn back towards him. There was no point in talking, she thought. He couldn't help her anyways. "It's beautiful outside, today." He commented a few minutes later. "Warm, Sunny. Why don't we go for a walk? Talk. You can tell me whatever you want, let me get to know you," he paused, waiting for acknowledgement she wouldn't give him. "And for everything you tell me about yourself, no matter how mundane, I'll tell you something about me."

At that, she turned to look towards him, her inherent curiosity pricked just the tiniest bit. "Why?"

"Because you need to trust me, or I can't help you. You can't trust me if you don't know me," he surmised. "So, let's be friends? And we'll see what we can do to work on getting you home to Jack."

She let out a breath, watching him, assessing. After a minute, he stood and offered her his hand.

"I miss the sun," she admitted quietly, ignoring his outstretched hand and rising from the couch. It wasn't a lie. She missed feeling like there was a brightness in her future. The way she thought she felt with Greg. With Skinner. Like she had a home, with someone who cared for and understood her. But she wouldn't tell Rick that, as she walked alongside him to the door, out of the air conditioned building and into the warmth of the day. And she wouldn't tell him that sometimes she wondered if she'd had ever truly felt the sun, or if she ever would.

They'd talk about everything and nothing, instead. Mostly, Rick talked, but he half the time he was asking her mundane questions in a way that left no room to leave them unanswered. Over the days that followed she shared things about Jack, or Regi, and learned about his family - three sisters, a brother, and a family who owned a winery in Sonoma. Periodically, Rick would throw in a deeper question, the kind that got her back up. The first few times she'd shut down - it was almost automatic. Who was he to expect answers to questions like "Do you see a pattern in your relationships?"? It was easier to shut down, end the communication, and go back to her room - to the safety of four silent walls that let her continue to try and sort through the mess that was the Seward file.

One day, Skinner came to visit her. Sitting in the gardens, he updated her on Bethany, on work, and he promised her the world when she got out. After walking her back to the door, he took her arms in his hands and crouched slightly, until he was at eye level with her. "Listen, Sarah. I looked into it again - for you. The investigation was sound. We got the guy. We got the right guy. We weren't wrong. I promise." She nodded, breathing out a whispered okay, and Skinner smiled at her.

She thought maybe it was time to accept his words, or at least say them out loud until she could pretend she believed them. Maybe if she convinced everyone that she recognized she was wrong, they'd let her go home. And she missed Jack. Listening to Skinner talk about Bethany had made her really miss Jack. Regi hadn't brought him when she visited, worried that it would scare him.

So maybe, she thought afterwards as she sat on her bed, maybe it was time to figure out how to get out of here, instead. The next day, on her walk with Rick, when he asked a more personal, probing question - she answered. Not in any significant detail, but she took a breath, bit back her first instinct to shut down, and actually answered it. Rick's surprise, and pleasure, was evident. And slowly, as she shared more tidbits of things that were real, that were deep, she found that in some unexpected way, it maybe helped a little bit.

One day, he asked her about her cases. She hedged on her answers, and he looked sideways at her and carefully brought up Tricia Seward.

"Maybe I was wrong," she admitted, her voice short and terse. "Maybe Seward did do it. I don't know why I felt differently. I just wanted to make sure, you know? It was the least that Tricia deserved." She didn't necessarily believe it, but mostly now she realized that she was never going to be able to change things. It was what it was. Maybe she could just pretend it never happened.

"You care a lot. About seeking justice for the dead. Why is that, Sarah?" Rick didn't break pace as his question pulled her from her thoughts. She didn't answer right away, and he didn't push - he just kept walking alongside her, but she could tell he was watching her out of the corner of his eyes.

When it was clear he was going to wait as long as it took for her to answer, she shrugged. "Someone has to speak for them."

"And you've delegated yourself as that someone. Why is that? Is it because you're scared that no one would speak for you? Because no one has spoken for you when you needed them to?"

She startled, jerked, and her eyes met his, her answer as short and curt and defensive as the question made her feel. "No."

He looked at her a moment, nodded, then changed the subject. Clearly, he didn't believe her. But at least he didn't push the subject. She could accept that. She supposed she'd have to.

Soon after, she was released. With a promise to see Rick the following Tuesday for her first outpatient appointment at his clinic near the waterfront and a sigh of relief, she was going home; Jack was hugging her, Regi was smiling with only the hint of worry floating behind her eyes. She promised them both that she would be more careful, that it wasn't going to happen again.

And it wasn't. Because she hadn't realized how precious freedom was until she finally had it back again. And she hadn't realized how intrusive psychiatric care could be, until Rick had managed to sneak his questions in. She didn't want to go through that ever again. So she pushed it all aside, and told herself that they got the right guy until she had convinced herself that maybe, maybe it was true.

* * *

It was surreal, walking back into her office at Seattle PD, a month after her release from the ward. It was just her office, now - void of any remnants of Skinner. She could feel everyone's eyes on her as she walked down the halls, as if she was under a microscope. Those she'd gotten to know best, who she'd worked with the closest, stopped in quick to welcome her back, and Oakes had come in and sat down and visited with her for an awkward hour.

"We'll ease you back in slowly," he promised with the demeanor of an overprotective father. "I've some paperwork for you today, but we'll get you on a case soon." He got up, looked at her, moved closer. "Come see me if you need anything."

She nodded, offering him a half twisted smile, unsure if she should be happy that Oakes seemed so accepting of her return, or frustrated that he felt she needed to be eased back in.

He reached out, touched her shoulder. "It's good to have you back, Sarah."

The first day was pretty boring, but tiring, too. She was out of practice with the full day routine, and she found she was using valuable energy wondering where she fit, how everyone would react to working with her once she was directly involved again. Her mind spun with all of her thoughts, and she was wiped by the time she got home with a cranky and equally tired Jack in tow. So she was less than enthused when her doorbell rang fifteen minutes later, interrupting her failing attempts to convince Jack to have a bath, and that yes, sandwiches were an acceptable idea for supper.

"Go get in the tub," she ordered Jack for the fourth time, exasperated, as she swung the door open. "Hi Regi-" she greeted without looking, her focus solely on the just slammed bathroom door, trying to decipher whether or not she could hear the water turn on in the tub.

"Sorry to disappoint," Rick's voice answered as he stepped through the doorway. She froze, startled. . He'd done home visits before, but she couldn't remember one being scheduled for tonight. Her thoughts flitted between wondering why he was there, trying to remember if they'd had an appointment scheduled, worrying that if they did and she'd forgotten about it he would think she was relapsing after only one day, wondering if Jack was actually in the damned tub yet, if she'd have to make a sandwich for Rick, too, wondering...

"I did say I was going to check in with you to see how your first day went," Rick continued, closing the door for her since she couldn't quite get herself together beyond staring at him blankly as her mind spun. Well, at least that answered that question, at least.

"I want pizza," Jack hollered from the bathroom.

"Too bad," she called back, jumping into action. "I'm too tired to make pizza. We're having sandwiches and that's that, Jack." She let out a sigh, then acknowledged Rick's question without actually answering. "I thought you meant you'd call."

"If I called I wouldn't be able to tell for sure if you were answering honestly," he pointed out - his tone non-accusatory but still, it got her back up.

"It was fine. Just tiring."

"Getting back into the routine is always exhausting," Rick grinned, ignoring the clear annoyance in her answer. "You could order pizza, you know," he continued. "Easier than sandwiches, and probably better received by the kid. Pick your battles."

"After two months not working? Yeah, that's not happening." Money was tight, her disability insurance had covered only half her month's pay. The last two months had eaten a sizeable chunk of her savings.

"Pizza," Rick said, loud enough that Jack would hear. "It's on me. Take a load off, Sarah. Celebrate your first day back."

"Homemade," Jack hollered.

"Not this time," Rick immediately shot back towards the bathroom door, raising an eyebrow at her and grinning before he addressed Jack again. "Compromise, kid. What do you guys like?" He turned towards her as he pulled out his phone.

"You don't have to do that." she wrapped her arms around herself, uncomfortable. He'd seen her, why couldn't he just go now? She didn't know what his purpose in sticking around was and she didn't like it.

"I'm hungry and don't feel like cooking anything myself. And pizza is always better with company. So take a load off and enjoy having someone treat you. You made it through your first day back, that's cause for celebration."

Feeling out of control - like someone had thrown the rug out from under her, but too tired to argue anymore, Sarah shrugged and offered up pizza options that Jack would accept. She poured Rick a glass of water and sank tiredly into the couch, wondering how soon she could get him out the door again without being rude.

"So," Rick sat down in the chair across from her, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, "It was good?"

She sighed. She was too tired to dissect her day. She just wanted to let her mind shut off and be still. "Don't psychoanalyze me, Rick. Not tonight."

Rick opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by Jack, coming out of the bathroom. "Who are you?" Jack's voice was laced in suspicion.

"Jack, this is Rick. He's my doctor. Rick, my son - Jack," she introduced.

"Why're you here?" Jack asked, staring first at Rick and then at her. "Mom, why's he here?" His voice was raised, a slice of panic sliding through. Her stay at the hospital had been hard on Jack. A sliver of guilt wound through her. This was why she had to make sure it never happened again. She had to learn to compartmentalize.

"He just stopped in to see how work went. It's fine, Jack. We're fine. Everything's ok." She hoped she was reassuring him, even as she wondered all of the same questions. Was Rick here because he expected her to break? Because he thought she couldn't handle going back to work? She wasn't sure and she was uneasy with the uncertainty.

Just then the doorbell rang, and she gestured Jack to come sit beside her while Rick got the pizza. When he sat, she squeezed his shoulder briefly before Rick made his way back with the food.

"Better than sandwiches," Rick stated pointedly to Jack, handing them each a plate. "No analysis," he promised her with a smile, and nodded as she picked out a slice. Rick started to talk baseball with Jack, and she decided to appreciate his gesture, and the fact that it had saved her from an exhausted, frustrated fight with Jack. It was the crowning point to make her first day a reasonable success.

* * *

Her first week back was mostly spent at her desk. Oakes had her reviewing five cases, looking for a link that he was pretty sure existed. At first she thought he was making up work for her and that there was no link, but then she'd found something odd. All of the victims were connected to one person, albeit indirectly and sometimes three or four people removed. The one person had known mob connections, and not small time ones, either. It went clear to Chicago. Once she had mapped out all of the connections as best she could, she took her theory to Oakes.

"This is why you're so valuable to us, Sarah. You've a knack for unravelling the tangled webs people weave," Oakes had smiled at her. "I think we better talk to the Feds." He put in a call, sent her back to work, and a half hour later walked through her office door with a tall, black haired man in tow.

"Sarah, this is Corey. Corey, Sarah. Corey's FBI, in guns and gangs. He's the west coast's top mob expert. You'll work with him on this."

Working with a Fed wasn't common, although it wasn't totally unheard of. She wondered if the Feds were taking over the case, or just advising Seattle PD. She supposed she'd find out soon enough, she figured, as she shook Corey's hand before he settled into the chair across her desk.

"So, what've you got?" He asked, leaning forward and following along as she presented her theory. When she was done, he sat back and nodded.

"That was a good catch," he commented. "I think it could be bigger than this lays out, but maybe not. We'll go back to headquarters, I've got access to some records we should go through."

"We?" she looked up from her paperwork, surprised. She figured he would either leave the case up to Seattle PD, or take it over... not collaborate.

"You don't want on the case?" he raised one eyebrow, and his mouth quirked up into the hint of a grin. He'd have a sexy smile, she thought.

"No, no, I do. I'd like that. I just...didn't expect it," she admitted. She always figured the Feds would treat city police as beneath them, not as equals or potential collaborators.

"I've learned a long time ago to trust intuition. You made the connection, you might as well help me figure the rest out." She couldn't help the smile that spread across her face, not only at the underlying compliment but at being treated with respect, instead of the sidelong glances she'd been getting from her Seattle PD colleagues all week.

"Let's do it," she agreed, rising.

On the way to the Bureau, in his car, she couldn't help herself. He had been quiet on the drive, but it was a comfortable silence. "So you trust intuition, huh?" she asked, shooting him a grin when they were stopped at a red light. It felt natural to tease him a bit, easy even.

He grinned back at her, full on, and it shot a stream of heat straight through her stomach. "Hasn't steered me wrong yet. Although often it seems to leave me watching a woman run out the door." He shrugged, his eyes twinkling good naturedly. She thought she saw a brief sadness underneath it, though.

"Recent?" she asked, unable to help the sudden curiosity.

"Yeah. Five years, ended last week," he shrugged again, as if it was what it was. "The career and lifestyle doesn't really lend itself to functional relationships, you know? Even when you want it to."

"Yeah... That's true..." she trailed off, wondering if that was the issue with Skinner and Jen, if that was why he wouldn't leave - because maybe with the promotion, his lifestyle would change enough that he could keep Jen happier, and maybe that was what he really wanted. Maybe she had just been the sideline - someone he was with because it was easier, because it fit with the job at the time. The thought hurt. She'd thought she was more.

"What about you? Guy waiting at home?" Corey's questions jolted her out of her heart wrenching musings about Jimmy.

"Nope. The job really doesn't lend itself to functional relationships," she parroted him, hoping that it came across with the dry humor she intended. She was never quite sure if she hit the mark or not.

Corey chuckled, so she guessed she'd managed it alright. "So I'd better brief you on how this'll work," he said, and the conversation switched back to work.

Three days later, after she and Corey had sleuthed through significant amounts of information, they had managed to prove Sarah's theory was more than just a theory. It felt good, victorious even, as if she was validated again. The Feds took over the case officially, and Corey pulled some strings so she could stay on, helping them work it through in a supporting role. It didn't bother her to not be in the field - Corey wasn't either and working with him was easy. It was like having a temporary partner. One she wouldn't have long enough for everything to go to hell.

Rick showed up for dinner again, at the end of her first week, holding a bag of chinese up as a peace offering as she swung the door open. Uncomfortable with the idea of being rude to him when he was clearly trying to be kind, she smiled and stepped out of the entrance so that he could come in.

"So you survived your first week," he surmised as she pulled two plates down from the counter. "Where's Jack?"

"At Regi's for the night," she handed him a plate and joined him at the table. He opened up the takeout boxes, and handed one over to her.

"Dig in," he smiled at her, and let her be in silence until they were done eating.

"So how'd the first week go?" he asked, leaning back in his chair, hands on his stomach, empty plates and takeout boxes in front of them.

"Don't psychoanalyze me," she sighed, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice. She didn't want to talk about her day, she just wanted to rest. It was still exhausting, working full days again.

"Just asking as a friend," he told her.

She shrugged, flattened her lips, and told herself to just answer him without being antagonistic. He meant well, after all. So she told him that it was good, and smiled when she added that they had cracked a case wide open. She mentioned how enjoyable it was working with the FBI, even if it was at a desk analyzing data. She was, however, anxious as hell to get back into the field - but she didn't tell Rick that because she was pretty sure he'd question her ability to handle it. She wasn't sure why he'd brought her dinner, twice in one week, plus she had seen him for her regular Tuesday afternoon appointment. She was unsure of her footing with him in her house and really didn't know what to say. So not long after they finished eating, she yawned, and then faked another one.

Rick took the hint, leaving her for the evening with an easy smile, wishing her a happy weekend.

* * *

A few days later, Corey was walking her from the Feds building to her car for the last time. He opened her door for her, then blocked it, looking down at her. "Hey. So..." he trailed off, and there was something in his tone that made heat pool deep in her belly. Her eyes widened, and she looked up at him and waited, wondering if she was reading it right. "If you ever want to get together... you have my number, right?"

"You're on the rebound," she pointed out. "And I..." she wasn't sure what she was. Abnormal. Broken. Something. "And anyways," she continued, "we don't even know each other." Or, more to the point, she was scared to get too close, so soon after Jimmy. But she couldn't tell him that, and she needed to find way of talking herself out of agreeing even though her body said an emphatic yes.

"We know each other. We're friends," Corey pointed out, "friends help each other out right? Help each other unwind. No pressure. Think about it. Call me," he suggested, stepping away from her car to let her get in.

Truth was, she could use the distraction, the release. And he was fairly laid back, non-threatening. And she was probably overthinking it all. So she took a breath, called him back. He turned, one eyebrow raised, and before she could talk herself out of it she'd stepped forward, took a breath, and let the words rush out of her. "Thought about it. Just friends, right?"

He nodded as his lips curved up into a grin that promised she wouldn't regret it.

And she didn't, as it turned out. She'd followed him straight to his place, that afternoon, making good use of the time she had before she had to pick up Jack. Corey's condo was understated and sophisticated, but comfortable all at the same time, with a phenomenal view of the sound. But she'd barely gotten a chance to register all of that before he'd lifted her and was kissing her. She wrapped her legs around his waist to find purchase and twined her fingers in his hair, pulling herself closer to him as she accepted the sudden desperate hunger coursing through her. They made it to his bed, albeit barely.

Corey was dozing when she crawled out from under his arm a couple of short hours later. She was silent and efficient about finding her clothes and sliding back into them.

"Sarah," he called to her, his voice husky with sleep, just as she was stepping through the bedroom door. She stopped, turned back. "That was amazing."

She couldn't help herself. She smiled at him, lifted her hand in a wave.

"Call me, whenever you need..." he trailed off, the suggestion obvious.

"Yeah," her smile grew reflexively. "You too." And they did. Over the next few months, they'd get together whenever one or the other needed it, or just wanted it. It was rare that a week went by without them meeting up somewhere - usually at his place, which was great because she could just slip out afterwards, no big deal. Once, when they were both off and Jack was spending the weekend with Regi, they spent two whole memorable days together, barely leaving his bed. The best part was he never pushed for personal stuff, and it was an easy friendship without pressure or expectations.

The only hiccup arose when, one Tuesday when they both had a quiet afternoon, Corey had made her late for her appointment with Rick. Not that she was complaining. It was a fantastic reason to be running behind, she figured. She showed up ten minutes late and slightly disheveled - she hadn't quite succeeded at taming her hair back into a reasonable ponytail. Rick raised an eyebrow at her as he let her into her office. "Is there anything I should know about? It's not happening again, is it, Sarah? You need to take care of yourself."

"No, no. Nothing like that. Actually, I was off all afternoon," she shrugged. Rick's eyebrows crept higher into his hairline, before his expression changed as he drew the right conclusion. She could have swore he looked crestfallen. But that was ridiculous.

"Be careful, Sarah. You're in a vulnerable space right now. Dating can be tricky."

"I'm not dating," she told him, putting significant mental effort into not rolling her eyes. She was definitely not dating. Rick looked even more dejected to hear that, which she found even odder. She wondered if it changed his perspective of her, if he was judging her.

"Just... be careful," he sighed, before pulling out his pad of paper and changing the subject.

* * *

At some point every week, usually on a Thursday or Friday, Rick would show up at her door with supper. She found it interesting that it tended to coincide nicely with about a mid-week point between her weekly Tuesday appointments. One night when Jack was at Regi's and they were eating vietnamese in front of the tv, she couldn't stop feeling irritated by the intrusion.

"I'm alright, you know. You shouldn't feel like you need to check up on me between sessions," she said, turning towards him.

He glanced over at her, his attention straying from whatever it was that was on tv. "I don't feel a need to check on you," he said, making her raise her eyebrows pointedly. She wasn't a fool. "Truth is, Sarah," he continued, "you fascinate me."

"You say that like I'm some kind of science experiment," she muttered as she turned back to the tv, her annoyance at the situation increasing.

"No. I think you're a strong, resilient woman who has the misfortune of caring far too much. It can hurt us, caring." Rick reached out, touched her shoulder. She had to force herself to not jerk away from the gesture. She offered him a smile that she hoped wasn't as uncomfortable as she felt, and redirected his attention to the show.

She turned that over in her head for days, before she finally concluded that maybe Rick wasn't just taking his job too seriously. Truth was, she was still turning it over in her head when her sessions with Rick finished, a month later. And she was more surprised than she probably should have been when, true to form, he showed up at her door Friday night.

"Jack at Regi's?" he asked, sliding through the partially open door and smiling down at her. She nodded, closing the door. "Great," he continued with a grin, "I figured if he was here we could order pizza, but since he's not - let me take you out for dinner. To celebrate."

"To celebrate," she repeated, looking up at him with a small, crooked grin, "my release from the Rick-Felder-brainwashing program?" She'd meant the question to be cheeky, teasing - but she obviously wasn't very good at it because Rick's face shifted to uncertainty. "It was meant to be a joke," she added, reaching out and touching his arm. Despite her alternating acceptance and annoyance of his regular visits, she knew she couldn't fault Rick's kindness and she shouldn't throw it back at him, she reminded herself.

"Might have to teach you how to make a proper joke," he accepted the apology that she had shuffled in there, somewhere, and offered her his arm. "But seriously. I know this great little restaurant on Pike Place. Fresh seafood. My treat."

"One of these days, it's going to have to be my treat," she said dryly, offhandedly accepting the invitation, and letting him guide her out the door.

The weekly dinners continued, sometimes even twice weekly. As time went on he became a sort of friend, the sort who told her laughing stories about his family, the short who was happy to chill out, eat a meal, watch tv. The kind of friend who never pressured her. Much. She never really thought anything of it, this strange, unexpected friendship, until one weekend when Jack was staying at Nash's. It was Saturday night and they were watching Jeopardy, trying to outdo each other. She was losing dismally - but a glass of wine and a good meal had mellowed her enough that her exasperation was mostly a joke.

"How could you possibly know that?" she turned towards him with narrowed eyes after he nailed a question that she hadn't a clue about. She wouldn't even remember the question five minutes later.

"How could you not know?" he teased, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. She huffed and was turning back to the television to pretend to sulk when suddenly his hand was on her shoulder. She froze.

"Sarah..." Rick started, his voice going quiet. She turned towards him, raising a questioning brow. "Sarah," he repeated. He reached out, touched her cheek, and the next thing she knew, he was kissing her.

It took her a second to get over the surprise. She couldn't decide if she should push him away or deepen the kiss. She kissed him back tentatively, testing the idea. It was alright, she thought. Good, even.

"Sarah..." he whispered again against her lips, and then he pulled her closer, deeper. She let go and decided to go along for the ride, sliding her hands under his shirt.

"Why?" she asked him afterwards, when they were still tangled up together in the centre of her destroyed bed, and her hands were idly tracing mindless patterns on his collarbone.

"Why what?" he asked, his lips in her hair.

"Why me?"

"Because," he rolled them so that he was over her, staring down into her eyes. "I admire you. You're strong. You're smart. You have an amazing ability to overcome adversity." She thought maybe there was something else underneath his words, but she let it go, leaning in and kissing him instead.

Four months later, he asked her to marry him. Six months later, the "SOLD" sign was up by her condo and she was packing up her life to move to Sonoma - the land of sun and light and a life where the dead wouldn't haunt her. At least, Rick said they wouldn't. She couldn't help but wonder, with every possession she placed in a box, if she was making the right decision. For Jack. For her. For Rick. Yes, she reminded herself, she had. Finally, she would belong somewhere, even if she had to move to a whole new state to do so.

Six or so weeks after that, she was sitting on the floor in the hotel hallway as Rick told her that he wouldn't watch her stare at a wall again. As he showed her how little he believed in her. Watching as he walked away. Just like everyone else. As she sat alone, unable to stop the silent tears from tracking down her face, she wondered why she had ever even entertained the thought that Rick could have been different. Nobody ever was.

Still, she pulled it together and walked back into the hotel room, where she told her silent, sullen son that it was all going to be ok. For the umpteenth time in his life. She wondered if it would ever be true.

Ten or so days after that, Rick was signing her out of the psych ward, and leaving before she could even say thank you. She should have known, she thought. She should have known that it wasn't going to be true; that she was going to end up alone. The definition of hopeless in the dictionary definitely had her picture beside it. Her only saving grace that night, the only thing that forced her to keep it together, was the person who was waiting for her - a person she didn't even particularly like, who seemed determined to keep getting under her skin. It was better than nothing, and she needed someone to drive, to get her away from all of the memories and pain. He would have to do, because she'd just lost everything again, and nothing was okay. "It's going to be ok" was just one more promise nobody kept.


	4. Holder, Part 1

_"Listen to me, Linden. You need to trust me. Do you trust me?" Holder had her by the shoulders and was squeezing them, crouching down a bit so that his face was right in hers. She looked at him, helplessly unable to find the right answer. The next shot rang out in the test lab and she jumped, panicked, and fled. She could tell that he was trying to tell her everything was going to be ok. But he was wrong. Nothing was ever going to be ok again._

Her introduction to Holder wasn't near as structured and formal. Their paths were never intended to cross. But he'd showed up in the doorway, seeming stunned to see someone in "his" office, while she was still trying to pack up "her"'s. She didn't fault him for the awkward introduction; It was his instant curiosity in her things - in her - that got her back up. Her irritation ratched up three notches when Oakes insisted she take the kid out on a new case and show him the ropes. Then she had to listen to him give her what she was pretty sure was his entire life's story in the car on the way to the scene. He was open and chatty, and despite his lanky, scrawny frame he seemed to take up the entire car. He wasn't much younger than her, maybe 3 or 4 years, but mentally he was a kid with stars in his eyes. Homicide would destroy him. She should warn him, she thought. Except she couldn't stop clenching her teeth at the sense of deja vu his presence was generating. She remembered being that optimistic about the job, as if she could help bring justice to those who couldn't do so themselves. What was justice, anyways?

The closest she managed to a warning that day was to ask him "who's that?" when he suggested that at least with homicide, you got the bad guy. But Clueless didn't even get the message, he just assumed that maybe it was just she who didn't know who the bad guy was anymore. He even had the gall to point it out. "Is that why you're leaving? Cause you don't know anymore?" It was the first time he hit a nerve with her. Little did she know then that it would be far from the last.

She didn't know how to deal with this new dynamic. The men she'd worked with before were all older, established, experienced people. Skinner was the perfect example. Even Rick was a calming influence for her. These men had guided her, moulded her, made her feel important, valuable. Sometimes even safe and sheltered.

Holder didn't instigate any of those feelings. His stream of consciousness ramblings and questions often left her feeling exposed, raw. He had a knack for asking the question, or making the observation that had the ability to hit home, hit her psyche at its worst. She was always on edge, on guard. He saw through her - saw things inside of her that she didn't want anyone to she didn't trust him, with his sketchy envelope passing through car windows and strange disappearances. Still, she had to admit that she did feel some guilt after following him and finding him attending an NA meeting. She listened at the door, longer than she should have. Invading his privacy in a way that, if the tables were turned, she would have never tolerated. Not one to shy away from confrontation, Holder happily called her on it that night on the docks. She didn't deny, stood her ground despite the discomfort. Because she could respect him for trying to fix himself, to be better. Because for the first time she realized that underneath the naive-little-boy exterior - underneath the cocky, junkyard dog casanova attitude he liked to cop - he was broken, too. It felt like some kind of thread of solidarity. So when Oakes went off on Holder about the illegal wire, she took the blame for it; an apology of sorts, even if Holder would never know it.

And he was always there. Always. With some kind of innate, perverse kindness she could never quite figure out. Despite her never doing anything to deserve it, he always seemed to be there, willing to do anything she needed - even when she didn't ask. The first time she truly appreciated that was when Jack disappeared. He'd been peeing down his leg about her being bitchy, and yet as soon as she got the call that Jack hadn't shown up for school he was all in, carting her around, refusing to leave, making sure she had backup. Making sure that she was ok. Even though the gifts in the backseat and his frequent phone calls seemed to indicate that he had somewhere else he was supposed to be. He was just there. With her. Poking, prodding, learning more about her than she wanted him to know... Keeping her just off centre enough to keep her from going completely off of the rails over Jack. And when they'd arrived on the scene with the boy's body, he'd protected her as best he could. From the scene. From the possibility that it was Jack. From herself.

"It's going to be ok, Linden. We'll find him. Promise," he'd told her soberly once they were back in the car. She hiccuped, swallowed the tears that were still threatening to keep falling. She had been so certain the body would be Jack, so terrified. In those moments, she wondered how she would ever go on. She and Jack, they'd been a team ever since Greg had left. He was all she had.

"You don't know that," she whispered.

"Have faith, Linden," Holder demanded. "Where to now?" And then they were off again, and for the first time she truly realized what "being someone's rock" meant, because in that moment, Holder was hers.

* * *

It was Midnight after they walked into the office after a hellish day of chasing their own tails, and Holder almost tripped over a stack of boxes piled just inside of the door.

"What's all this?" he asked. She looked over, and her heart sank into her feet. She recognized those boxes - she'd packed them, after all. Holder, ever inquisitive, opened a couple and peeked inside. "Yo, someone giving us all of their kitchen supplies?" He kept nosing around the boxes until he noticed the return tags. She didn't have to look to know what they'd say. "OoooooooEeeeeee," Holder chortled, "Sonoma sent your stuff back?"

She wanted to say and do all sorts of things, right now. Rail. Scream. At Rick. At Holder. Slap Holder upside the head so hard he saw stars. Shut his mouth for good. But any of the myriad of ways she could think to use to accomplish that goal weren't acceptable in the middle of a police department. Plus she kind of needed to at least try and be nice to him, after he had helped her find Jack last week. And, she reminded herself, it wasn't his fault. So she gritted her teeth, steeled herself, and tried to make her words come out even, level, and emotionless, maybe with a hint of sarcasm. "Looks like, doesn't it?"

"Harsh, Sonoma," Holder said, moving away from the boxes and throwing himself into his chair.

She sighed. "Go home, Holder. Get some rest," she ordered him, firing up her computer. She was going to see if she could find any further ties to Richmond. She was going to ignored those fucking boxes, mocking her from their resting place by the door.

"Yo, what about you?" he asked, unfolding himself from his chair. "C'mon, Linden, even superheroes need sleep."

"I'm good."

"What about Jack?"

"With his dad." Honestly, she thought, the punches just kept coming at her from all side, and it was so like Holder to obliviously land all of them. She wished he'd just leave already before he noticed how hard she was working to stop the tears.

Holder sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. "Don't stay all night, k?" He made it to the door before he turned and looked back at her. "His loss, Linden," he sing-songed, then stood silent for a minute before he finally left, closing the door behind him. It might have been Rick's loss, but it felt a lot more like hers. It was always hers. Despite that, Holder's parting words were a kindness that would ring through her head with every solitary tear that tracked down her face as she burned the midnight oil that night.

* * *

And then she'd nearly gotten him killed after kicking him out of the car on the reservation. True, she'd fought until they found him, but that didn't negate her responsibility for his being left out there in the first place.

Despite it, he still showed up to stand with her when she put Jack on that plane. All she could think as she watched the plane taxi down the runway was that she had broken the promise she'd made to Jack all those years ago, that they'd always have each other. She'd just thrown that away, and she was terrified he'd never forgive her. She wanted to fall apart, but there was Holder, standing beside her - barely able to hold his own self up - with a steadying hand heavy on her shoulder, grounding her. So she broke her rule for the first time in years and flat out apologized. Because she had been in the wrong, and they never should have split up on the reservation. And Holder just shrugged it off and told her they were good. He would never bring it up again.

Two days later he was promising vehemently that he wouldn't leave her in the psych ward. And he didn't. Raw, exposed, feeling almost destroyed, she had come out of the institution thinking she'd be greeted by Rick. She'd seen him signing her out. This was good, she thought. Rick was back. Her rock, the person who helped her find her way back to the living.

Except Rick wasn't back. The room was empty. The flash of hope she'd felt as she came down the stairs went cold as she looked around the barren room. And then Holder stepped into view. It wasn't Rick who'd kept his promise, she realized. It was Holder. Holder who was her rock for the second time in a month. Despite the disappointment, she offered him a grateful smile, and let him guide her to the car.

They were a good fifteen blocks from the institution when she finally spoke. "I thought..." she started, then trailed off.

"What, that I wouldn't get you out?" Holder huffed out a breath beside her. "Course I did, Linden. I promised. I keep my promises. ALWAYS."

She gave her head a sharp shake, then winced as the cottony feeling behind her eyes shifted into a sharp stab of pain. "No. I mean. I know you do. I meant... I thought... that I saw someone. Maybe I was seeing things."

Holder was silent for an entire block, and she wasn't sure if that meant she was right, or that he'd finally concluded she was losing it, for real, and was regretting busting her out. When he did speak, it was an almost intelligible mutter, as if he didn't really want to be the one to tell her. "He was there, Linden. Y'ain't crazy."

She let out a breath, relief that she wasn't losing it warring with the pain of having to accept that Rick would really just...leave. She didn't let herself wonder how Holder sensed her thoughts. She couldn't let herself wonder about that. And she couldn't think about Rick's absence. So instead she let herself wonder what, if anything, Rick had told Holder. "Did he say anything to you?"

After another uncomfortable pause, Holder shrugged. "Nah." He couldn't lie worth shit, she thought.

"Holder."

"Nothing worth mentioning." He paused again, sighed, "Just that he couldn't stay."

"They never can," she said softly, hating the way her voice hitched partway through, hating that she even voiced it out loud. She glanced over at Holder in time to watch him shut his mouth, obviously changing his mind about whatever he wanted to say or ask.

Then he sighed. "You're good, Linden. I got your back. We'll be at the Ritz soon."

"No. Not the hotel." She wasn't ready to be alone, just yet. "Just drive. Please."

"Can do, boss. But only if you rest your head against that seat, and sleep off the crap that they put into you. Trust me, Linden. I got you."

"Strangely, she did trust him. At least enough to look out for her until morning. So let herself drift off into sleep. The next morning, she vowed to herself, they were going to find a way back into the casino and end this shitshow once and for all.

* * *

The drug-induced dreams were out of control. She woke once, jolted awake by the sound of her own voice crying out for her mother.

Holder's hand engulfed hers. "You're safe, Linden," he murmured.

"Don't ask," she demanded, hating how harsh her words came across as much as she hated how weak and unsteady she sounded. But she was not talking about it, especially with Holder. She never should have asked him to just drive. She should have gone to the hotel, where she could be alone. Alone, and safe from Holder's prying questions.

"Wasn't gonna," he replied, "I get it, Linden. I have those dreams too."

He made it sound simple, she thought. And fuck, she didn't want him to know this about her. "I don't," she lied. Holder's thumb rubbed a slow circle on the back of her hand. She wanted to pull her hand away, but she couldn't bring herself to deny herself the comfort he was providing, no matter how much she didn't want it. Didn't want to want it.

"What else did I say?" God, what else had Holder inadvertently learned about her that night?

"They pumped you full of a lot of shit," Holder said, avoiding her question. "Close your eyes. You're safe, Sarah," he added gently, his voice softening as he used her first name. "Anything you say while you sleep it off will never be spoken of. Unless you want to, of course."

She wouldn't. Not ever, she thought. And she should berate him for using her first name. He wasn't allowed. But she couldn't bring herself to be unkind to him, when he was showing her such compassion. "Thank you, Holder. For..." Everything. Saving her, staying with her, being there when even the person who had wanted to marry her couldn't be bothered to stay. For knowing when not to push, on one rare occasion. "For getting me out."

"BFFs, Linden. S'what we do," he said easily, as if it was just that simple, even though it never was. "Now rest." He shifted in his seat, signaled to turn. But he didn't let go of her hand. And even when he gave in to his curiosity a few days later and brought up Rick's past involvement in her life, he never, ever mentioned anything she might have said while she was sleeping.

And then he was putting a bullet into Jamie Wright, to save her. To **save** her. He would carry it forever, she knew. For her.


	5. Holder, Part 2

It was actually hard to walk away after the Larsen case was closed. Not from the PD - she was beyond done with the job and the bureaucracy and red tape and fucking Carlson. She was done being betrayed by her own. But walking away from Holder? That was hard. And unexpected. She wasn't sure when he'd come to matter, but somewhere along the way, he had. She wouldn't "keep in touch", as he'd suggested, because she knew full well that it was just a bad idea. Dangerous. And not only because she didn't want him to get her sucked back into police work.

No, it was time for an uncomplicated life. So she found a house on the island, a non-challenging job, and a boy toy who wouldn't make her feel too much, or want more than simple release. And she didn't keep in touch. Because with Holder, she sometimes got the feeling that she belonged. She didn't trust that at all. It was a feeling that had betrayed her all too often.

She managed to avoid Holder for an entire year - ducking his occasionally phone calls until he just quit trying. That wasn't to say he didn't cross her mind. He did, at odd times. When she was waiting for a ferry to come in, or when she was out on a run. Or once, in the middle of sex with Cody. She suddenly had this snapshot in her mind of how he would react if he found out she was all hot and heavy with a kid. Cody was ramping it up and it felt damned good - because - honestly - 25 year olds had stamina. All of a sudden she heard Holder's voice, chortling in her ear. _"Oooooh, 1-900-COUGAR. Work it, Linden."_ Poor Cody didn't know why she suddenly burst out laughing, and it was all she could do to salvage the situation.

It was only a couple of weeks later that she found herself standing in her kitchen listening to Holder mock her sex life and make up his own version of how she ended up sleeping with the "babyfaced hottie". Boatman Cody, he would call him later. It was funny, because at one point she almost thought his mocking tone held a thread of something that sounded a lot like jealousy. It made her uncomfortable, so she interrupted him, mocking him in turn with a "blah blah blah" then changed the subject to his lacto vegan tendencies. She mentally shrugged off the feeling of emptiness and longing that his visit had elicited, as if she was just going through the motions of life, pretending that any of it had meaning. She wanted to hate him for making her feel that way, but she knew that it would have happened eventually.

Finally, the real reason he showed up at her door came out, and she was falling back down a rabbit hole that felt too much like her past back to haunt her, again. Except really, if she was honest with herself, she had to admit that the past had never stopped haunting her. It lurked underneath the "peace" she had supposedly found, and when Holder left his case file with a body that brought back visuals she'd hoped to never see again, it was painfully clear that the illusion she'd been living under for the past year was broken.

She sat at her table for a long time after Holder had left, the case file in one hand and the letter announcing Ray Seward's impending execution in the other. Holder, damn him, had known that she wouldn't be able to resist. It was just bad timing that it would come at the same time as a letter that already had her blood running cold. She didn't even try to fight the inevitable descent down the rabbit hole - she knew there was no other choice.

She'd done a good job, pretending with Rick that she was over the Seward case. And she'd done a good job over the last year, convincing herself that she didn't need or miss police work. But she couldn't avoid the blunt truth forever: It was unfinished business, and unfinished business made her skin itch.

So did Holder, for that matter. His knack for cutting right through all of her walls to the heart of her had reached a new level with the case file he had so casually left behind. She wondered if it was as innocent as he played it. If it was innocent would he really have been hiding in the dark precinct office at midnight, pretending he wasn't waiting for her to come and throw his damned file back at him? To pick at her brain, taunt her about missing police work, suck her into discussing it, considering the puzzle, wanting it again?

He wasn't pretending to be irritated when he found her at the retention pond, though. She knew he was serious when he snarked at her about stealing his crime scene. But what did he think would happen, when he handed her that file? Then Skinner rolled up like her own personal saviour, giving her the opportunity to get away from Holder's critical irritation and to breathe Skinner in, to feel, however briefly, like he still cared.

And the bodies. The bodies. There was no choice involved. Just like that, she was back. Temporary Police, but still, back. It was different than before, though. Awkward, as if she didn't really quite fit anymore. Holder looked damned good in a suit and tie, but still, Holder in a suit and tie? It didn't compute for her. And then there was the DA. Every time she turned around it was Holder and the DA, or Skinner and his wife, and she was just there, on the outskirts, wandering between them all with no real place of her own. She was alone. Always separated. Adrift. And Jimmy - Jimmy who should be as invested in making sure they got the "right" guy, was just humoring her regarding the potential connection for their current murderer and Trisha's murder. Letting her look into it but not lifting a finger to help. She didn't get it. He still looked into her soul like he saw her, like she meant something. Until it came to Seward. As soon as Seward was mentioned he rebuked her, dismissed her. She was two feet small when it came to their old case, and she didn't understand, especially now, why he wasn't more invested into making sure they were right. But he wasn't, so she was just going to have to go it alone.

Or maybe not totally alone, she had to be honest enough to admit a short while later when Holder was poking at her again, dogging her down the halls and informing her that no man was an Island, not even Sarah Linden. And when she took a chance, told him how she found the crime scene, he accepted her unspoken theory as a possibility. He didn't ridicule her, or dismiss her like Skinner had. He didn't suggest her sanity was slipping. Instead he looked at her, his expression considering, and then he nodded. "So there's a connection," he concluded, turning his previously voiced question into a statement. "We'll find it." He touched her shoulder, then headed off as Reddick called him.

Not only did Holder not dismiss her conviction that there was a connection, but he was interested enough, thoughtful enough, to check in with her and see if she'd made progress. He'd bounce ideas around with her. Between Skinner adamantly dismissing her and Reddick mocking her at every opportunity - the ass had never had gotten over her scoffing rejection when he'd suggested they hook up, two or so years prior - it was almost as if Holder was her only ally in a sea of sharks. And his support made it easier for her to ask him for help, when she needed a hand talking to Tiffany.

It was still hard, though, and so very awkward. She'd never been good at asking for help to begin with, and between seeing him with the assistant DA, and Reddick beaking at her while she tried to ask Holder to come with her, she felt like everything was a battle. So much so that she lost it on Reddick, then stalked off. She could feel Holder's eyes boring into her back as she left. She figured that would be it, that he would take the easy path, stay with Reddick. He wanted to make Sargeant, after all. Holder with goals - it was such an odd change. Nice, though. She was happy for him. Even if she felt displaced, dismissed.

She was just finishing a cigarette that was only partially helpful in helping her calm down when Holder came out the door. "Yo, Linden, I'm coming with ya," he paused, "but I'm driving."

She was so grateful that he was coming with her that she didn't even consider arguing, just dropped the keys in his hand and made her way around to the passenger side. "How mad is he?" she finally asked when they were well on their way to Tiffany's.

"Pretty pissed." Holder answered with a chuckle. "Sure glad I didn't miss that show. Man... You tellin' him off like that? Hot, Linden. Smokin'."

Shaking her head at his exaggeration, she opened her mouth to ask if he said anything to Reddick, but then he was signalling to pull over by Tiffany's place. She'd ask later, she decided as they got out of the car and headed up the walk. There'd be time later.

* * *

Within a few days, they were back working together as if she'd never left. It was easy to get back into the groove, like slipping into a comfortable pair of slippers. The thought made her giggle one day when they were sitting in the car, chasing their tails.

"What's so funny, Linden?" Holder asked.

"Nothing." But it wasn't nothing. It was... nice. Even when he was calling her on shit, getting her back up, pissing her off... She was grateful to have him back by her side. Preferably in the passenger seat, of course. She huffed out another chuckle.

"Linden, whatever it is that's so funny, you better tell me, Or else-"

"Or else what?" She glanced over at him, swallowing another laugh.

"I'll think of something," he warned darkly, but his eyes were twinkling.

"You do that." She rolled her eyes at him, then turned her focus back to the road. Yeah. She had missed this. "Did Skinner say who saw our guy?"

The subject change was on purpose, a way to deflect, and to push her own mind back to work. It was uncomfortable, thinking about how comfortable she was. She didn't want to feel it. This "not-nothing" could be dangerous, and she didn't trust it. So after their third long day of chasing their tails, when Holder invited her over for dinner, she made a crack about his eating habits as an excuse, but mostly she'd declined because she had wanted to accept. Dangerous territory. He has a girl, she reminded herself. She stopped by the station, intending to wrap up a couple of things quick before heading back to the Island. Before she could, though, she'd run into Bethany. And Jen, who'd glared daggers at her. She couldn't watch their happy-little-family moment. It was just another reminder that Skinner had never really been hers. By the time she'd licked her wounds and forced the hurt back into the little box she'd stuffed it in years ago, too much time had passed and she'd missed her damned ferry.

Which was kind of ok. She hadn't really wanted to be alone anyways. And Holder had offered... Tofu and a blanket on his couch actually sounded better than the silence of the island. Still, it was awkward, knocking on his door and inviting herself in - even if he'd technically invited her earlier. It got even more awkward when she realized he wasn't alone. And when it became clear he'd forgotten Valentine's Day, even though she almost wanted to laugh at how Holder that was. Not that she'd remembered, but... she had no reason to. She was waiting for the floor to swallow her so she didn't have to bear witness to Caroline's discomfort when Bullet phoned - her unlikely saviour. Work was always better than being a third wheel. Funny, how she could be more alone when she was with people than when she was the only person in a room.

She got her equilibrium back once they were in the car - cigarette smoke wafting through the air, the passenger window cracked slightly. She let her head fall back against the headrest and rolled it sideways so she could see Holder. He was staring straight ahead, one hand on the wheel. "So," she started, "you forgot Valentine's day." Her words were wry and she knew that her amusement was probably visible on her face. He was silent for a minute and then as they pulled up to a red light, he glanced over at her with a sheepish grin.

"Yeah, well... It's a stupid holiday."

"Caroline might disagree. And you forgot." She felt her grin widen. She didn't razz him often, but it was kind of fun.

"C'mon," he was exasperated now. "It's not like you remembered."

"I didn't need to remember," she reminded him pointedly, rolling her eyes.

"Touche," he huffed out a laugh. "But yo, Linden. You mean you'd remember if you did? Have a reason to remember?"

"Well..." Definitely not, she thought, and the silent admission hurt, for some reason.

"Touche," Holder congratulated himself, laughing for real. "And what's boatman-Cody anyway? Chopped liver?" He reached out and gave her shoulder a playful shove as the light turned green. She let out a breath, gave her head a shake, and offered him a half smile while ignoring his dig about Cody. There was no way she was going there. She was saved by circumstance, as they pulled up to the vet clinic. The aftermath of finding Angie Gower meant that their 72 hours turned into 90 before she finally got some overdue rest. She was losing the ability to be rational as they questioned Angie and it was really just Holder who kept her reined in. Holder, who kept her together. Kept her from exploding, or imploding - she wasn't sure which.

The next day, after what barely qualified as a catnap, it was her turn to keep Holder together in the Pastor's house. Because that seemed to be the way it worked - through the Larsen case and now. One was always shoring up the other. They took turns helping each other keep their shit together. It was becoming almost second nature. After they left the Pastor's house she'd had Holder drop her off at the station and sent him off to get coffee and cool the fuck down. He was still seething. "We'll get him, Holder. By the book," she tried to reassure him, but he spun out of the parking lot moments later all the same.

* * *

She took a breath and headed in to let Skinner know that they'd found nothing at the Pastor's house to tie him to the murders. She knew he wouldn't be any happier about the news than they were. She was sure they were missing something, but it didn't make any sense that they'd find nothing. And then Jimmy looked at her and threw a huge handful of salt in her wound by pointing out that even if they got the Pastor for the girl's, it didn't make him for Tricia. Of course he'd toss that in her face, the one time she had no intention of even bringing the Seward case up.

"He didn't do it," she finally said deliberately. She didn't understand why Jimmy didn't feel the same urgency to make sure that they were right, to make sure that they weren't the vehicle that killed an innocent man.

He was sitting beside her on the desk, his body heat making him feel ever closer than he was. "I believe you," he acknowledged. And just like that her soul was lighter and she couldn't stop herself from flashing him a real smile. Finally, Jimmy was on board. She had him as well as Holder to help her prove it. With the three of them working together on this, there was no reason they'd be unable to find the connect. Together, they could right this wrong. She leaned into him, tipping her face into his neck, his cheek, breathing him in. He moved in, met her, searching for her lips. No, she thought - not here, not now. It wasn't a good idea. But this was Jimmy. It was Jimmy, she reminded herself. The man she'd loved. And maybe now it could be different. Maybe. So she tilted her face back towards his, only startling away when his phone rang. Thrown back to reality, she retreated as he answered the phone, putting distance between them - physical and emotional.

As she drove to the train station she wondered if she'd ever get over her inability to think, to control herself, around Jimmy. Alone with her thoughts, she berated herself for letting her gratitude get in the way of her common sense. He doesn't want you, she reminded herself. But maybe he did. He'd leaned in, offered her the suggestion of a kiss. Would he do that if he didn't want her? It never used to be this complicated. They had just worked, before. She wished that Holder was with her to distract her from her own thoughts - but he hadn't come back yet so she'd had to send him a message and headed to the train station on her own.

Having two vehicles ended up working out better, she thought as she strode back to the car. She could go get started on the warrants while Holder finished up on scene, and they'd have more done sooner. Definitely a blessing.

Definitely not a blessing, was the first thing that crossed her mind after she registered the knife to her throat, the voice in her ear. Willing herself to stay calm, she let him take her gun, and her phone. She lied about the radio, clicking it on and tucking it under her leg as she did up her seat belt. It would be her only hope, she thought - if anyone thought to listen. If anyone noticed it tying up the channel. She could only hope. And drive.

It felt like days, and at the same time, no time at all as she drove, trying to relate to the pastor, to help him relate to her. Hoping that if they talked as humans he would let her go. If she believed, she would have prayed. But she'd lost belief in higher powers years ago. Not since her second foster home. The one where the father was a pedophile. It wasn't God who saved her then, it was herself - running away. And Regi, who had believed her. And now, the only person who could save her was Holder. If he heard her. Please, Holder. Notice the radio.

She dug deep to channel all of her training, trying to maintain calm, to talk, to relate, and to mention landmarks they were approaching without making it seem like it was deliberate. She needed a cigarette. If there really was a God, she'd be chain smoking right now.

She thought she'd gotten through to him, in the parkade, finally. He deflated, as if he was defeated, exhausted. When he asked her to take him to the water, she felt a twinge of hope. The hope grew as she turned out of the parkade and realized that she could easily take them to the Biltmore Pier. If Holder was listening, he'd be able to find her. As they got closer, she asked if they were going to "that bridge" and told him the story, about how she saved Holder when he thought he had no one left, no way back. She hoped the story would resonate with him, but mostly she hoped that Holder was listening. Her good friend, who had once lost hope, who was her only hope now.

The pastor seemed to deflate further, as if he was beginning to believe that it wasn't over, for him. But then he caught sight of her radio, and she couldn't convince him it was off, and he was forcing her to pull over and dragging her out across the raised drawbridge.

Let's just talk, we can talk, she tried to tell him, but he was wild now, frantic. He spun her and shoved her to her knees at the edge of the bridge and then she was looking down, down, down. All she could see was a vast expanse of deep water. Water she would sink down into. They might never find her. Jack would never know what happened to his mother. Holder... Holder would blame himself. And she didn't have anything left in her arsenal to slow this down, to stop this. Except to beg. "Please," she pleaded "Please don't do this."

He was uncertain. She knew he was uncertain because he hadn't just pulled the trigger immediately. She could talk him out of this, she knew, if she could just find the right words. But she wasn't a tactical negotiator, she was a murder cop with shitty people skills. And she couldn't think clearly, not anymore. All she could focus on was the knowledge of the gun over her head and the sight of the water below her, and her spinning brain. _What if this is all there is? What if there isn't anything more for me? They'll never find me, down there. Jack will think I abandoned him. He'll never know his mother loved him, that I didn't want to leave him. Will the water be cold? Will I feel it? How did this get so fucked up? Please, please don't do this. Please. I'm not ready to die._

The air changed behind her then, and out of the corner of her eye she caught the pastor, falling to his knees beside her, the gun lax in his hands. And then he was praying, but all she could hear was buzzing in her ears. And sirens. She was imagining sirens. And then the gun slipped from his fingers and was falling, falling to the water below. She felt her whole body droop with relief - he'd lost his main weapon. And the siren's were still playing in her mind, louder now, closer. But she didn't totally register that they were real until doors were slamming and someone was yelling at them to stand up with their hands in the air. Holder - it sounded like Holder.

Her body was starting to shake, and she had to force it to comply, force herself to her feet, hands in the air. The pastor slowly got up beside her and she caught him putting his hands in his pockets. "Get your hands out of your pockets," she hissed at him, moving to stand in front of him, blocking him from the police. "He doesn't have a gun!" she called. She could barely stay on her feet, and now she was trying to protect two people - the pastor, and Holder, who was standing in front of her, gun drawn. She saw his gun waver, as he yelled at her to get out of the way.

She knew without a doubt that if the pastor didn't put his hands up, Holder would shoot him. From the look on his face, he was itching to fire his gun. But she also knew that if he did, he would live with it forever. She remembered how he was, after Jamie Wright. She didn't want him to carry this, too. Not for her. She tried to tell the pastor, to convince him not to make them shoot him, but she didn't know if she succeeded. All she could focus on was the roar in her ears, and Holder's face, and his exasperated voice telling her to get out of the way, calling her Sarah. Sarah. He almost never called her by her first name. That in and of itself startled her enough that she stepped to the side after one last desperate plea with Holder, just as the Pastor pulled his hands out of his pockets and raised them.

Just like that, it was over. She wanted to run away - away from the lights and the people and the prying eyes. But her legs wouldn't hold her up anymore. As she sank to the ground, she saw Holder, pacing, moving to sit beside her. She couldn't breathe. Everything was a fog. And then his hand was on her shoulder - rubbing, gripping. It was heavy and solid and real and a clear thing she could focus on. Finally she could let out a whoosh of air, inhaled again, exhaled. "I got you," he murmured. "You're ok, Linden. I got you." She nodded in acknowledgement, and kept focussing on breathing. It was all she could do.

"We have to get back to the station." Skinner's voice broke through the fog. "Debrief. Come on, Sarah. I'll drive you." . Don't hyperventilate, she told herself. Just breathe. She didn't want to go with Jimmy - it was a bad idea. She'd do something she'd regret. As it was, it had been all she could do to not throw herself into Holder when he touched her shoulder. She wouldn't be able to restrain herself, not with Jimmy.

"I got her, Lieu," Holder disagreed, saving her once again. "Just give us a couple minutes. We'll be right behind you." Then someone was calling for Skinner and he turned away.

She didn't know how long they sat like that, with Holder's hand solid on her shoulder. It could have been hours, or maybe just minutes. Eventually he stood up, then reached down and grasped her elbow to help her to her feet. The dock was empty, she realized - the only thing left was **the** car, both driver's side doors wide open. "C'mon," Holder said quietly, taking a step forward. But she couldn't. She just stared at the car. It was **the** car.

"Let's go," he tried again. He slung his arm across her back, his hand coming to rest between her shoulder blades. The solid reassurance was what she needed to be able to start forward. One foot in front of the other, her focus on the warmth of his hand, pressed firmly against her spine.

Holder checked the back seat before opening the passenger door for her and letting her get settled. "Do you have my phone?" She asked him as he slid into the driver's side.

"Unis took it for processing. You'll get it back at the station."

"Give me yours." She needed a phone, She needed to -

"What for?" he asked, rooting in his pocket and then holding the phone out to her.

"I need to call Jack. I need to tell him-"

"Whoa." Holder snatched his phone back before she managed to even flip it open. "No way. Jack's in school, right now, Linden. You'll just freak him out."

"He needs to know that I love him." She couldn't stop the tremors, couldn't stop the panic from sliding up her throat.

"He knows. But if you call him and tell him that, he'll know something's wrong. And nothing's wrong, you hear me? Everything is fine, now." He shoved a cigarette at her, lit it for her. And when she finished it he shoved another one her way. Then, he was pulling into a convenience store parking lot.

Her heart leapt into her throat. "What're you doing?" Please don't leave me alone in here, Holder, she begged silently.

"Wait here. Doors locked." He ordered her, then hurried inside.

He was back in minutes, sliding into the driver's seat, rooting through the bag of stuff he bought, cracking a bottle and handing it to her. "Gingerale. Drink it. The sugar'll help with the shock and then ginger'll steady your stomach. Don't argue with me, Linden," he muttered when she opened her mouth to point out she didn't like sweet drinks and her stomach was a mess anyways. "Just drink the damned thing."

He was right. It helped. By the time they got to the station she was feeling steadier. "Ready to face the magic?" he asked her. She took a breath, meaning to nod, but shook her head. He gave her a long look, and sighed, "Here, one more smoke. Then we go in." He lit hers, and then one for himself, and they sat in silence, smoking about the fifth cigarette since leaving the pier. As soon as she snuffed the butt out, he ditched his and opened his door. "Alright. Let's go. I'll catch you when you're finished with your statement, ok?"

By the time she walked out of the detachment, she was done. Just done. Between the statement, the inquisition, and everyone she saw checking in with her, she just needed to get the hell away from people. Because if she had to field one more question, one more "Sarah - you ok? Hey, Linden - how are you? Are you ok? How you holding up?" she was going to lose it. She had already said "I'm fine" so many times that she was pretty sure she'd be chanting it in her sleep. What else was she supposed to say, to these people who barely acknowledged her, most days? She appreciated the concern, especially from Ray and the other techs she worked with more regularly over the years, but at the same time, what was she supposed to answer? That she was exhausted? Drained? That she really thought she would be at the bottom of the sound, by now? Nobody wanted to hear that she was shook up, confused, or overwhelmed. Her nerves were shot and her patience thin. She had to work to keep from snapping at everyone, and she couldn't find Holder anywhere. As Skinner started to come towards her, she ducked out the door and left, avoiding that scene. Because with him, she might just fall apart. And the last thing she needed to be doing was falling into her married ex-lover's arms in the middle of a crowded police station.

All the way home, she battled the constant feeling that the next time she glanced in the rearview mirror, he'd be there. She had never felt more relief than when she walked in her door, but it quickly turned back to unease in the oppressive silence. She checked the fridge - nothing edible left. She wasn't even sure she could identify the few contents on the shelves. She didn't think she could eat, anyways. Unable to take the silence, feeling like every little creak and groan the house made would make her jump out of her skin, she clicked on the television for white noise. And there was Jimmy. HER JIMMY. Discussing the day's events with the media. Looking poised, collected, confident. She let his voice wash over her, a comfort. Until her door rattled.

Hurriedly, she clicked the television off and turned to face the door, wishing that she had her gun. She couldn't breathe, her airway cut off by the lump of terror in her throat.

"You left your keys in the door." Her shoulders sagged as she recognized Holder in her doorway. She let her arm fall, but the lump in her throat was still there, and she couldn't think of anything to say. He raised a bag, itemizing food including her favorite lemon chicken. "What more could you want?" he finished. Gratitude flowed through her, for his thoughtfulness, for not having to be alone. She felt her lips creep up into a smile.

"You gonna stand there all night, Linden? Get some plates already - food's getting cold!" His jaunty command made her huff out an uneven breath, a half laugh. And she turned to get the plates.

He didn't seem to be in any huge hurry to leave, and she wasn't in a hurry to be alone, so she let him hang out, drag the evening on. He hadn't accepted her pat "I'm fine" answer, instead dragging the truth out of her. Somewhere in the conversation, she realized that he was almost as shook up as she was - just in a different way. And then he poked through the Seward case file with her, listened, talked. She told him details of the case she hadn't talked about with anyone - not since it was active. And finally, eventually, he stood to leave, making a crack about how badly he needed a shower. She wasn't ready to be alone. But she had no right to ask him to stay. He had a girlfriend. He was happy with Caroline. And as much as he clearly had been scared he'd lost her today - that didn't mean she was anything more than his partner, his BFF - whatever that meant. She still hadn't quite figured it out. So she stood with him, walked him to the door.

He had both shoes on when he turned and looked down at her, his expression serious, intent. "You sure you're ok?"

"Yeah," she nodded after a slight hesitation that she hoped he didn't notice, "I'll be fine."

"Cause I can stay... sleep on your couch...you know... if you need."

Yes, please stay. Please don't leave me alone, she thought, as she smiled at him. "I'm fine, Holder. Thank you for..." for the takeout, for finding her...for everything. "For tonight."

"Anytime you need, girl," he murmured, reaching out with one arm and hugging her loosely. "I'm just glad you're safe." He pressed his face into her hair for a second before letting her go.

"Me too," she whispered, as he slid out the door, the Seward case file tucked under his arm. The house was silent again, eiry. She wished she had taken him up on his offer to stay. Most of the edginess she'd been feeling earlier was gone, but not all of it. She doubted she'd get any sleep. She went back to the table, rinsed the dishes and took a call from Ray Seward that unsettled her even more before heading up the stairs to shower. She crawled into bed and lay awake long into the night, wishing she had been brave enough to accept Holder's offer to stay.

* * *

The next day she shoved it all back, focussed on Adrian's psych assessment and Danette's revelation as to Mills' potential whereabouts. She hadn't counted on having her life flash before her eyes for the second time in two days. She had just enough time to holler for Holder in a blind panic before Mill's hands were wrapped around her throat. She fought back, trying to claw at him and punch at him. But slowly she was losing oxygen, and she couldn't hit him hard enough or properly enough to save herself. Just as her vision started to go black, Mills' weight was thrown off of her. She scrambled away against the wall, as she slowly became aware of Holder pummelling Mills's face. She staggered to her feet, intending to stop Holder before he killed the bastard, but by the time she was standing over them rage had taken over and her foot connected with Mills' stomach. Holder let her do it, let her get some of her own back, and she loved him for that.

By the time Holder had Mills cuffed she was collapsed against the wall, trying to breathe through the fire burning in her throat. She startled when Holder's face was suddenly right in hers, peering at her as his fingers probed gently at her throat. "You ok, Linden?" he asked, "can you breathe? Swallow? Talk? Talk to me, Linden. Did he crush your windpipe? Do you need to go to the hospital?"

Her mouth worked for a minute before she could find her voice. "I'm ok, she croaked, and winced as she tried swallowing.

"You sure?" he asked, and she nodded. His hands moved to her chin, tilting her head so he could get a better look at her face. "Be right back," he muttered, then strode away before she could call him back.

He was back a few minutes later with a wet rag - god knows where he found it. He grabbed her chin again and tilted her face as she tried to twist away.

"I can do that," she protested, reaching for the rag, but he just grunted and brought it to her face himself. His expression was dark, but his touch was gentle, his attention to her face thorough.

"This could use a couple of stitches." he commented softly, dabbing at the cut on her chin.

"No time." she shrugged. "It'll be fine."

"It's been a helluva couple days, Linden," he sighed as he balled up the paper towel and inspected her face one last time.

She nodded her agreement. But unis were on their way and Mills would be arrested and she was ok, and he was ok. And then they could rest. She had nothing left, it was all she could do to keep moving.

She'd forgotten that bad things come in threes, until she heard Holder mention a body in the trunk just as she was picking Bullet's necklace out of Mills' trophy box. Oh. Fuck. She ran. She would never know where she found the energy, but she ran as hard as she ever had. No, no, no, Holder, don't open the trunk.

She saw the moment he realized what she wasn't telling him. His face shifted, twisted, hardened. "Please, Holder, you don't need to be here." She couldn't convince him. So when he turned and lifted the trunk lid, she stepped up to stand beside him in solidarity, looking down at what was left of the girl he'd grown fond of.

"Come on," she whispered a minute later, touching his shoulder to turn him away. This time, he came with her. When they were away from everyone else, out of sight, he stopped and grabbed her arm. When she turned and looked up at him, his face was blank.

"I can't...I gotta... Make sure they don't fuck it up, ok?"

She couldn't do more than nod, and watch him walk away. She'd check on him later, she decided.

* * *

It was hours later by the time she was letting herself into his apartment. It was bad, she thought immediately - but not as bad as she'd feared. He didn't look sober, but he didn't look trashed either. Cigarettes, booze, but no drugs. At least, she didn't think so. He glared at her, so she lifted up his spare key. "Green flower pot. You wouldn't have answered if I knocked." She knew him well enough to know that, at least. She ditched her jacket and took another hard look around for any evidence of drugs before she settled in on the couch beside him, accepting a cigarette from the pack he slid towards her. He was wrecked.

"It's not your fault." she told him, over and over. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice - the self loathing, as if he was solely responsible for Bullet's fate. She didn't know what, exactly, had gone down the day before - she was too done in by the end of the day to have asked, but she knew something had changed. And now Bullet was gone and Holder was taking the blame on his shoulders. "Do you want to die?" she asked him, leaning in close, desperate to keep him in the present. If he stormed out in search of drugs, she didn't think she could stop him, and she had a really bad feeling that he was teetering on the edge. But then his eyes locked with hers, and he was staring at her so intently she thought he was trying to see right into her soul.

Suddenly, he pressed forward, and she knew instantly what he wanted. She almost let him. Part of her wanted to. But no - he has a girl, she reminded herself as she tipped her chin down, not giving him another mistake to tear himself apart over.

She hadn't realized her refusal would devastate him. All she could do then was wait out the storm as he cried with grief for Bullet and shame because of her, unsure what to do other than offer an awkward pat on the knee and pointless words of solace.

Of course, she missed the ferry. "Can I crash on your couch?" She asked him later. He was still sitting beside her, silent, morose.

"Knock yourself out." he shrugged, dragging himself to his feet. He swayed a minute before leaving the room, coming back only to bring her a blanket. He left her in silence.

She woke once, in the middle of the night. She could see the shadow of Holder, sitting against the wall. She wasn't sure if he was awake or not, but she thought she felt his eyes on her. Maybe, she thought - maybe her presence was helping. She could only hope, because she really had no fucking idea at all.


	6. Holder, Part 3

She was surprised he'd shown up at the jail. Sure, she'd called him, desperately hoping he'd bring her the Seward box, but he had been cracking his first beer of the day at 6am when she was leaving to go home and change before heading to the jail. She wasn't surprised that he tried to come, so much as she was surprised that he made it. And then he stuck around. There for her, even in the height of his own grief. At one point, she'd thought he left, muttering something about needing more beer. But then, when Seward blocked her again, refusing to be honest with her, refusing to help her help him, she had lost it. She was done, leaving. He'd played her for a fool, she thought, and she felt angry and betrayed. She should have expected it, or maybe she just shouldn't have even tried.

She hadn't expected Holder, when she stormed towards her car. She'd thought he was gone. But there he was, stalling her, blocking her exit, calling her on running away, hitting her where she hurt the most.

Angry, she shoved her way past him as she hurled words at him about taking his own damned advice and practically threw herself into the car, insulating herself not just from Seward's miserable betrayal but from Holder's overly perceptive observations. But his words kept resonating through her head. "You never stay," he'd accused, "cause then you'd want it. Need it. And you could get hurt. Left. Or not left." It puzzled her. She wasn't sure which possibility scared her more - being left, or not being left. Outside the car, he was hammering away at her, his mouth never stopping, blabbering on about how she missed her chance at kissing him. She actually wondered what would have happened if she had let him, last night. And she couldn't help but laugh. At him for jostling her out of her hurt and anger, and at herself for even considering kissing him. He was always there for her, and she wasn't about to ruin that by letting him kiss her. No way.

And then the stay of execution was denied, and after a horrible few final hours, Seward was dead. She had turned away, but not before the image of his spasming, dangling body was etched into her memory forever. She had failed. And nobody gave a fuck. Nobody except Holder, who was still there when she walked out of the police station, deliberately forcing one foot to move in front of the other, step by step.

"C'mon," he said, touching her elbow with one finger. "I'll drive you home."

"You still drinking?"

"Not for hours."

She couldn't do it, drive herself. And she couldn't argue. So she extended her keys to him on one finger, and climbed wearily into the passenger seat. For once, Holder didn't speak - he didn't ask her about the things she couldn't talk about, and he didn't fill the silence with senseless chatter. For once, she almost wished he would.

She wasn't aware of the drive, she just knew when he was pulling into her driveway.

"You smell like a distillery," she told him when they were crowded into her little entryway. "There's a spare towel in the bathroom." She hoped he'd take her up on the unspoken offer to stick around. She didn't think she could be alone just yet. Holder raised one eyebrow at her, and nodded. "Thanks, Linden."

She could hear the water running as she sank down into a chair at the table, dropping the Seward case file on the table. It was done. Over. She'd failed. She opened the file and slowly flipped through the pages, skimming the investigation reports again, looking for anything that might point her to where she had gone so wrong.

"What the hell?" Holder's voice in her ear made her jump out of her skin as his arm snaked around from behind her and snatched the file way, snapping it shut. She twisted in her chair and reached for it, a snarl on her lips, but he cut her off before she could get any words out. "Seward's gone, Linden. It's done. OVER. It's time to quit torturing yourself with this file."

She could only look at him, unable to speak, her mouth moving but no words coming out. She hoped the raw stab of pain she felt wasn't as visible as she was scared it was. Her eyes burned.

"You gotta move forward, Sarah," he said, his voice softening. "Quit dwelling on it. Or it'll destroy you."

"I...It..." She couldn't manage to form any words.

"You did your best. It's not your fault." He knelt down, leaning forward until his forehead was pressed against hers. "It's time to move on. Don't let it destroy you. You don't want to die." he repeated her words from the night before.

His lips were so close, she thought. And she thought he'd let her take comfort where she could. And she was tempted. So very tempted to lose herself in this man who was standing by her so solidly. But he deserved better, she reminded herself. Don't ruin it by kissing him, she repeated her earlier thought like a mantra. She leaned harder against his forehead for a moment, or maybe an hour. She wasn't sure how long he knelt there with her before she finally pulled back. "Take it," she told him. "Take the file. Take it away. Please."

"You got it, mamacita." His hand reached out, squeezed her shoulder. "I'll see you manana, yes?"

She shrugged. She didn't know what was next. All she knew was that she needed some time. To process. To make peace with it. If there was even any peace to be had.

* * *

She couldn't sleep. She couldn't breathe. So she ran. She ran until she was winded, and then she ran some more. She didn't stop until she was almost on the verge of collapse. She found herself standing by a single tree, standing strong and alone in the centre of the meadow. Like herself. Solitary. Strong. She was strong, she reminded herself.

She walked home, each step that brought her close to home also bringing her closer to the future. She had to move forward from here, she reminded herself. It was, like Holder said the night before, over. Now, she just had to accept that, be at peace with it. It was a new day, a new beginning. It was time to let it go.

And there was Jimmy, sitting on her steps. At first his presence felt like an intrusion, but as she offered him coffee and he talked about how maybe they were meant to be alone, she realized that maybe his presence was one more step towards that new beginning. Seward was dead, the case no longer hanging over her head. Jen had left him - his marriage no longer impeding them either. Maybe things didn't work out before because the timing was wrong, because they needed resolution for it to ever work. Maybe now it was finally their time. She stepped forward and pressed her lips to his. Smiled into his eyes. Leaned in to kiss him again. He deepened the kiss, his arms coming around her. And just like that, she was home. This was where she belonged. Everything would be ok, now, because now they could finally move forward. Together. She stepped back from the kiss, smiled into his questioning eyes before taking his hand and leading him to the stairs, and up.

Once they were in the sanctuary of her room, she slipped her sweater off before stepping forward into him and sliding her hands under his t-shirt, splaying them across the small of his back. She stepped up, reaching towards his mouth once again.

"Are you sure about this, Sarah?" he whispered, a hair's breadth away from kissing her.

She nodded, breathed him in. "You smell smokey," she commented, as she touched her lips to his.

"I had a fire at the lake house, last night," he volunteered. "Just had to get away until..." Yeah, she thought. Until. She didn't want to talk about that, so she pressed her lips to hers and kissed him for real, urgently, tugging at his shirt. He lifted her then, and her legs wrapped around his waist as if they were meant to be there. And then he was carrying her to the bed, setting her down on the blankets, and following her down with his body. As he worshipped her with his hands, with his mouth, it felt like the last four years had never happened.

* * *

The next morning she untangled herself from his sleeping body and made her way downstairs. She'd clean up, make coffee, let him sleep a bit longer. Everything was finally going to be ok. She'd stay on with the department. Partner with Holder. She'd get to spend her days working with her best friend, and her nights with the man she had loved for so many years. Because he was wrong, about them being meant to be alone. They could be different. Together. And now it was their turn.

She lived in a euphoric high all the next day. For the first time in a longer time than she could remember, she felt the warmth of the sun. Holder's joy when he found out she was sticking around, and the happiness that wrapped around her knowing that Jimmy was finally, finally hers.

She even let Holder grill her about him. Hell, she even enjoyed Holder's grilling her. She teased back, asking if he was jealous, making him laugh. It wouldn't cross her mind until later that there may have been a tinge of actual jealousy in his response. And as she got back to work while he drove, she thought that nothing could be more perfect. Her best friend accepted her relationship, unconventional though it was. And he'd protect her, and her relationship, if he needed to. She could count on him to help her keep it relatively concealed, at least until Jimmy's divorce was well underway.

The euphoria didn't fade until Jimmy was criticizing her, and then huffing about a bad day - how could a day that started in bed with her be bad? She was back on unsteady footing and suddenly unsure... and then Jen and Bethany came in and it was horrible. Like being a voyeur to someone else's pain. She waited, uncomfortable, as he hugged Bethany. And then she saw the ring. Kallie's ring.

* * *

Her memory of the rest of the day's events would never really be clear. She wasn't sure she was even fully aware as things were happening. It wasn't an excuse, or a justification. It just was. All she could see on the drive to the lake house was all of the blood on Jimmy's hands. And on hers. All of the girls. Young, vibrant, beautiful souls with a whole future ahead them. Slaughtered. By him. She loved a monster. She loved a monster and she didn't even realize he was one. How could she not have realized? She needed Adrian. Focus on Adrian, she reminded herself. Find Adrian. Holder couldn't save her, couldn't save Adrian. Skinner had made sure of that. She just had herself, no one to rely on. And Jimmy's story kept changing, and he kept taunting her. Reminding her that she loved him. Telling her that she didn't want to know that he was a monster.

By the time they got to the lake house she could barely focus on Adrian. It was reflex, the first shot. An automatic reaction when Jimmy told her Adrian was in the trunk. She thought he would try to overpower her if she tried to open it. And she was scared to open it. Scared to see. She couldn't bear to see that poor boy's body. No. This couldn't be happening. The case had wrapped it's tentacles around her and, thanks to the monster she had adored, would never let her go.

She just stood there, her gun still aimed. Skinner was clutching the wound, staring at her with an expression that looked oddly like...approval? And then Holder's voice filtered into the periphery. Warning her not to shoot Jimmy. He was right, she thought - and as his voice penetrated her mind calmed. Slowly, she lowered the gun. Holder was right - don't give Jimmy what he wants. He would pay in a court of law. It would be more painful than death.

"It has to be you, Sarah," Jimmy spoke up again, "you loved me."

Horror at the truth of that statement transcended the grounding quality of Holder's voice and all she saw was red. She had to shut Jimmy up. Jimmy had to shut up. Now. The monster had to die. She fired the second shot.

Time stopped. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe. It felt good. Justice. It felt really good. Until it didn't anymore. Slowly, her gaze travelled from Skinner's inert form to the gun in her hand. She ejected the clip and peered inside. It wasn't empty. Good, she thought, slamming the clip back into place. There was only one option left for her, now.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Holder slam on the brakes, as if startled out of his pacing and moaning by the sound of the magazine reseating into the gun. The sudden change in her peripheral vision surprised her - she'd forgotten he was even there. He stalked towards her.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he snarled.

"You need to go," she told him flatly. "You need to leave. Now."

"What? No," he argued.

"You need to not be here, Holder. Go. Drive away. Call it in. Then go back to Seattle and make sure Adrian is okay." She reached out with her free hand and gently touched his cheek with two fingers, the only thanks she could offer. "Go," she whispered. She couldn't finish this with him here. There wasn't a damned thing she cared about left in her immediate world, except Holder. And she'd just changed the course of his life by making him bear witness to her actions. She wouldn't let him witness the rest, too.

He looked at her a long moment, and reared back. "Holy fuck. NO. That is NOT how this is going to end," he snapped, reaching out and grabbing her arm before she could react. His fingers dug into her wrist, making her wince as he used his other hand to pry her fingers off the gun. It fell with an anticlimactic thud and he kicked it away, still snarling. "He is not going to destroy you too. You are not going to give him that power."

Except Skinner already had. Destroyed her. "Arrest me, then," she said slowly, her voice void of any inflection.

"I'm not arresting you. Jack needs his mother, you stupid fool. Out of jail. And ALIVE." She should yell at him for calling her stupid, she thought. But when she opened her mouth, nothing came out. She wasn't sure when he'd changed positions but now he had her by both shoulders and he was shaking her none too gently. "Jesus Fuck Linden," he muttered darkly.

She ducked her head, unable to bear the sight of his horrified expression any longer. "You need to go, Holder. You can't go down for this."

He stopped shaking her. "I'm not going down for this. You either." One of his arms came around her and pulled her up against his chest. She wanted to fight it, but she could hear his heart beating under her ear - rapid fire, and she could feel his body trembling. It kick-started a reaction in her and she started to shake uncontrollably. "I got you," he mumbled, and then his other hand was at her waist. "You shot him with his own gun?"

She shook her head. No, that was hers.

"Which gun is Skinner's? The one I just pulled out of the gun belt?" She nodded, and felt his body move as he tossed the gun away. Towards the body, she thought.

"You need to go, Holder," she repeated, but she didn't pull away from him or try to get out of his one-armed embrace. The sound of his heart beating against her ear was starting to ground her, and she needed that, right now.

"I'm not leaving you."

"You can't go down for this," she thought she remembered saying that before.

"Nobody's going down for this." Yeah, she thought - she did say that already. Because she remembered hearing this same answer. "We just have to figure this out. Just...give me a minute," he muttered. She could feel his one arm moving, maybe as if he wanted to keep pacing. But he didn't pull away, just stayed with his arm locked around her, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.

"Alright," he said a moment later, pulling away and setting her back from him, peering into her face. "This is what we're gonna do."

* * *

"You should have left," she whispered later, when they were about halfway back to the city. "We shouldn't have done that."

"Yeah? And what would you have done?" At her silence, he continued. "I know what you were gearin' up to do, Linden. That man done enough damage. I wasn't gonna let him destroy you too."

But it was already too late.

* * *

It was as if she had a photographic memory of the weeks that followed, remembering every single detail in painful clarity. But at the same time, it was all a blur. She was wrecked, at the beginning she could barely function. She knew what she had to do - get rid of the gun, of the shells. But she couldn't do it. Couldn't lose that last tangible evidence that Jimmy was gone. It was Holder who held her together, at first. Anytime she was with him, he kept her from falling apart, put her back together when she did. He was always there, shoving food in her face, making her go home and sleep, reassuring her when she panicked and berating her when he found out she was procrastinating on getting rid of the gun.

She was alone for her worst moments, though. Making sure she wasn't carrying the child of a monster. Bethany pounding on her door, crying for her dad. Frantic hunts for the missing shell casing. She was used to being alone, usually relished in having her own space, but now, the solitude was oppressive. Every time she was alone, she felt herself fracture even more. And each day, Holder would do his level best to piece her back together.

She remembered the day she was really losing it, and he cornered her in their office to try and explain that he knew it was harder for her, that it was personal... and she knew that if he mentioned the fact that she had loved a monster she would lose it completely and never be put back together. (Even though she did. Even though at the same time as she railed at herself for loving a monster, she railed at herself for killing the man she loved.) So she snapped at him to shut up and left, to lose it in private. And yet despite her awful treatment of him, he was still there the next day, handing her food, grounding her. Always there. Until he wasn't.

Her memory of him telling her Caroline was pregnant was etched in her mind as if it was yesterday. The awe that filtered in, despite everything, when he told her he was going to be a daddy. And then, little by little, Holder started to fracture. Suddenly he had stake in life, something more important than himself, and the true repercussions of what she did, of what she drug him into, began to break him. She watched it happen, helpless to stop him from using again. Helpless to stop him from storming out of the car and away when she called him on it.

The next day he had been a wreck, coming down off of it. Craving the next hit. She watched him play with something in his pocket while she drove. Finally, she pulled over and held out her hand. "Give it to me."

"Don't got nothing," he mumbled, shifting his gaze to the passenger window.

"Bullshit, Holder. Give it to me," she demanded.

He ducked his head. "Everyone thinks i'm just a piece of shit tweak-head. But you seem to think I'm something better." His voice was desolate, mournful. As if he'd lost that. And maybe he had, but it was her fault and she didn't delude herself by pretending it wasn't. And he was hundreds of times better than some tweaker. He was everything.

"Yeah. You're 1-900-Rockstar." She'd smiled at him, letting him see the truth of it in her eyes. He huffed out a breath and quirked his lips. He was silent for a minute, before reaching into his pocket again and pulling out a small baggie. He handed it to her and as she took it from him, he closed her fingers around it, his hand engulfing hers.

"I don't know how to move forward anymore," he admitted, defeated, his confession a cracked whisper.

"Me either, Holder. But we have to. One foot at a time, I guess. I got rid of the gun. And the one shell casing. I still can't find the other."

"It's all falling apart at the seams."

"I know," she whispered. "I know. I'm drowning all the time. I can't breathe. But you're going to be a dad. We have to find a way out. Your baby deserves her father."

"His. His father, Linden." Holder's fingers twitched against her hand, as if he was poking at her.

"God, I hope it's a girl," she teased, before turning serious again. "We'll find a way out, Holder." For him, at least.

"Get rid of this. Don't keep it around." He squeezed her fis tightly, before finally letting go of her hand.

"Yep." She agreed, as the police radio beeped and their day continued.

That was the last real conversation they would have that wasn't ending with them screaming at each other to go fuck themself, or with her cocking a loaded gun and pointing it at his head. Everything he had done for her was reduced to nothing with one action, and nine words. _I should have known you would leave me too._ He never looked her in the eye again. He never spoke to her again.

The only apology she could offer was to absolve him of his involvement in Skinner's death. And she did that. And then she was defeated by Richmond and her belief in any goodness in the world crashed in the wake of their corruption. So she left her badge, and Seattle, with hardly a backwards glance. Maybe there'd be a life out there somewhere for her, but it wouldn't be here. And she couldn't face Holder, not now. She drove away from the Island one sunny Seattle morning, the damnable shell casing in her pocket. She left without ever apologizing, without ever thanking him, without ever saying goodbye.

* * *

There were many things that, if she could turn back time and do over, she would have done differently, or maybe not have done at all. But there were three things that, if she could have a do over, she absolutely unequivocally would NOT have done.

She would not have killed Skinner - she would have listened to Holder and put the gun down, letting Holder take the lead and arrest him. Mills wouldn't have taken the rap for crimes he didn't commit, and Holder... Holder would have never had to compromise his integrity, his morality, for her.

She would not have pulled her gun on him, or accused him of leaving her too. It was ludicrous, to think that a man who did everything - EVERYTHING - to protect her would turn on her like that. The only way she could have betrayed him more was if she had actually pulled the trigger.

And she would have never left Seattle without seeing him again, without saying a proper goodbye.

Her greatest regrets, even greater than loving Skinner, were all centered around what she did to Holder, how she'd compromised the very core of his morality, how she destroyed their friendship, how she'd hurt the truest friend she'd ever had. She thought long and hard on this over the years, until one sunny fall day she found herself driving towards the centre where she was told Holder ran his NA classes. She wasn't sure what kind of reception she would get - she wouldn't blame him if he shut her down completely. But she owed him this. He deserved an apology. It was time to make things right. It had taken her 3 years to recognize it and two years to bring herself to face him, but it was time. It had to be done.

She was firm in that conviction until the moment when she was faced with him, standing right in front of her. Suddenly had no idea what to say. How to say it. So she traded jokes, let him take the lead, and didn't even try to work up the nerve to say what she'd come to say until he'd looked down at her, his eyes soft and kind, and asked her why she was standing there, for real. He'd always managed to see through her, and apparently he hadn't lost that ability, even after all of this time. His piercing gaze left her no way out. So she told him. He was home.

"I'm sorry," she continued, her voice breaking and her emphasized words feeling foreign to her ears. But she owes him this apology, despite the vow she'd made so many years ago with Greg.

His lips quirked into the smallest smile, and he shook his head ever so slightly. Like it was no big deal, like she didn't need to apologize.

"Why don't you stay?" he asked, as if it was the simplest, easiest thing in the world. His voice, soft and yearning, floated over her like a caress, and that scared her more than the actual words. So she bolted, but not before letting him call her back, before being wrapped in his arms in the tightest hug. A hug she wished could go on forever. She'd never felt safer, more protected, more at peace than she did in those moments she stood in his arms. This was what home felt like, she thought, running a hand down his neck, forcing herself to pull away. She couldn't talk around the lump in her throat, so she just turned and walked away - quickly - before she changed her mind. But she couldn't stop replaying their words in her mind. Was it just perspective? Could she live in this city again, with Holder at her side? Was that enough? Would the dead still haunt her?

Without realizing it, she found herself pulling over, and getting out of her car to stare at the cityscape. She remembered it as a cloud and fog shrouded skyline, no clarity to be found. But today? Today the skyline was clear, crisp. It wasn't shrouded in the ghosts of the dead. It was open, welcoming even. And she knew. She wanted to stay. She wanted Holder. The city scared her, the fear that she would be forever haunted by her past here was real. But she would rather face that fear with Holder by her side than be safe and snug in another city, alone. She was tired of being adrift. She wanted Home.

And that was how she found herself waiting for Holder for the second time that day. She'd never forget the look on his face when he saw her. Surprise, confusion, and then finally, something that she thought might be hope. She'd never felt this kind of fear. The kind that said this was the first day of the rest of her life, and it could only go one of two ways. Her breath caught in her throat as he stopped in front of her and peered down at her, his gaze probing. And then he gave her the biggest smile. It lit up his face, the air, her whole world. Oh, she loved him. It was effortless, to smile back, her heart in her eyes, his staring back at her.

He wasn't saying anything, but he didn't have to. They just stood there, smiling at each other, for a long moment.

"You came back." He worded it as a statement, but there was a hint of a question in the softly spoken words.

She took a shaky breath, and admitted, "I've spent the last fifteen minutes forcing myself to not drive away."

"I'm glad you didn't," he told her gently, smiling down at her.

"I don't make it easy for people to stay," she warned softly, letting him hear the worry in her voice. Letting herself be vulnerable even though it sent cold shards of fear down her spine to do it.

"Nope, Y'don't," he agreed. "You're a piece of work, alright, Linden." His words rocked her back and she immediately realized that she had probably misread things. Maybe she should have listened to the voice that suggested driving away before he saw her. She blinked back sudden tears and went to turn away when she was stopped by Holder's hand on her shoulder. Gently, he turned her back and then reached out to touch her cheek, sliding his finger across it to tuck a stray hair behind her ear. "Worth it, though. One hundred percent. Maybe one hundred and ten."

He waited, still touching her face. Her mind spun as she tried to figure out what he meant; how she was supposed to respond. She blinked and one of the tears hovering in her eyes let go. Holder's thumb shifted and brushed it away. Her stomach jumped and she realized she was a bundle of nerves, waiting, scared this wouldn't end the way she wanted it to. Save me, Holder, she thought. She swallowed around the lump in her throat.

"Why'd you come back?" he eventually asked, repeating his earlier question.

"Because..." she took a breath, forced herself to tell him the truth. "Because when I'm with you... I don't feel so broken." Or maybe, she thought, it was just that it didn't matter to him that she was. He accepted her, broken parts and all.

He smiled at her, his hand coming up to caress her cheek. His eyes shone. With what, she wasn't sure. He leaned closer into her for a moment, then stepped back and he sighed. "I can't kiss you, Linden."

That was the last thing she expected. "Why not?" She asked, her voice wavering slightly despite her best efforts to stay steady. Maybe she shouldn't have told him. Shouldn't have reminded him that she was broken.

"Cause I promised I wouldn't try to kiss you again. And I always keep my promises. ALWAYS, Linden."

Her eyes narrowed as she thought fast to figure out what he was talking about. And then she remembered. "You were drunk. That one doesn't count. You can break it."

"Promises always count, Linden. Else they mean nothing."

She decided that she must have read it all wrong and he might just want something platonic. Friendship. She looked down, confusion and disappointment melding with anger at herself for misreading the situation so badly. It hurt. More than Greg, more than Rick, more than Skinner. Because she had thought that Holder, the one who always stayed, was maybe the right person. Her person. And suddenly it seemed likely maybe he wasn't.

She felt his thumb trace around her jaw, and then press slightly upwards to bring her eyes back to his. "Hey," He started, his voice soft, his expression gentle and kind. "I never promised I wouldn't let you kiss me, y'know. I never promised not to kiss you back if you did."

"Oh," she breathed. Her stomach jumped around and she swallowed convulsively in attempt to stop it. She'd never initiated the first kiss before.

"It's on you, Linden," his eyes crinkled as his lips quirked up slightly. Then he just stood there, watching her, waiting. Just do it, she told herself. It's fine. She debated a minute, leaned into him, then a sharp jab of fear made her retreat. Her eyes burned, she couldn't even blink as she stared at him, trying to find the nerve. Be brave, she told herself, just be goddamned brave for once. Finally she managed to take another breath and rushed in, practically throwing herself at him in haste and fear and nerves. She pressed her lips quickly to his before bolting back two steps. It took every bit of willpower she had to not run away. Her heart hammered in her chest. She didn't know why this was so hard - it shouldn't have been. But it was. Maybe because it mattered. It really mattered.

And Holder, damn him, chuckled. "You gotta stay long enough for me to kiss you back, hmmm?" He was grinning at her like her struggle was the most entertainment he'd had in years.

"This is embarrassing, Holder," she told him shortly.

"C'mon," he wheedled, "Just do it already. Quit thinking and do it. DO IT."

"I did." She pointed out, huffing a sigh at his raised eyebrow. She exhaled again, then forced herself to lean in closer, stayed there. "You always stayed," she whispered.

"Course I did." He reached out and brushed her cheek with his fingertips before withdrawing his hand again. "Always will, too." Then he just stood there, expectant. Waiting.

She moved in, more tentatively his time, and reached up. Her hand caressed the back of his neck as she stepped up on her toes to press her lips to his. This time, she stayed there. He was still waiting, the maddening man, so she moved her lips cautiously against his, worried about whether or not it was the right response. Just as she was going to give up, pull away - run away - his lips moved. And then he was kissing her back. Tenderly. Carefully. His arms wrapped around her and pulled her closer to him as his tongue moved along the contours of her lips. So many emotions were flooding her that she didn't know how to process it all as she whimpered and opened to him, letting him in. It wasn't fireworks or desperate desire that invaded her senses. It was more of a soft heat, a comfort, like coming home. Home. The warmth wrapped around her body like tendrils, protective, as if they were extensions of his arms. And when he finally stepped back and looked down at her with all of the adoration in the world shining in his eyes, she realized that she couldn't wait for the next kiss, the next hug. It didn't have to be fireworks. It just had to be him. Holder. She couldn't wait for the love and comfort that enveloped her when she was with him.

"I love you, Sarah Linden." He cupped her cheek and locked eyes with her. She could feel his gaze searing straight to the depth of her soul. "Come home, Sarah," his voice was a low whisper, as if he was scared to even ask. "Everything will be ok."

The words were different, somehow, this time. Maybe because it was Holder, who never broke a promise. For the first time ever, the words held the weight of a promise she felt she could believe in. The smile that split her face was the only answer she needed to give.


End file.
